


The Problem

by The_Audacity



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29590296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Audacity/pseuds/The_Audacity
Summary: Uryuu wants Ichigo, but so does Orihime, and he would never dream of getting in her way.
Relationships: Ishida Uryuu & Kurosaki Ichigo
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Theme song: “So Here We Are” by Bloc Party

Uryuu has a problem.

He sits on a park bench under partial shade of outspread leaves, pretending to read the novel he holds in front of his face. Pretending because his concentration is being disrupted by the man seated to his far right, as seen from the corner of his eye. Uryuu is no poet but his mind swirls with fanciful phrases and pretty diction in a futile attempt to verbalize the magnificence on display. Clichés like ‘sun-kissed skin’ and ‘masculine glory’ and ‘erotic splendor’ are ruthlessly rejected, only to crop up again in even cheesier formats. He can’t stop himself. It’s a curse, or maybe a karmic punishment for all the trouble he has caused across three different dimensions. All those Hollow he killed and battles he fought took a toll. Now he’s paying the price in sexual frustration.

Yes, Uryuu has a very serious problem: he is desperately attracted to none other than _the_ Kurosaki Ichigo.

It started three days ago. Well, to be fair it started over three _years_ ago when he first met the Shinigami Representative and declared them eternal enemies, but that’s beside the point. The point is everything was fine—manageable, if nothing else—until three days ago when Inoue-san asked him out. Not like _that_ , although Uryuu had a brief moment of panic thinking it was a romantic invitation at first. It turned out she had already asked both Kurosaki and Sado-kun to an afternoon park picnic but one accepted while the other regretfully declined. Explaining that she didn’t feel comfortable on an outing with just Kurosaki, she proceeded to sort of beg Uryuu to tag along, belatedly adding that she’d had every intention of asking him to join the would-be trio from the beginning.

What could he say but ‘yes?’ Everyone knows Inoue-san is smitten but it’s clear she isn’t ready to make her feelings known to Kurosaki anytime soon and he’s too oblivious to notice on his own. The young woman is simply too shy for her own good! That’s part of her charm, though, and Uryuu won’t hesitate to go the extra mile for one of his best friends any given day of the week. Regardless of how awkward the favor winds up being for everyone involved.

Turning a page for the sake of upholding the farce, he decides he’s handling it reasonably well. ‘It’ being his completely inappropriate lust for someone he would ordinarily classify as ‘undateable’ under alternate circumstances. Mainly, if he didn’t know Kurosaki’s flaws are nothing compared to his attributes. He thinks this would be a good opportunity to act as Inoue-san’s wingman, if he had that kind of skill—maybe he does, he’s never tried—but he nearly shudders at the very idea. Not because _he_ wants to be with Kurosaki instead. God, no! Uryuu’s interest in the man is strictly physical and entirely ill-advised besides. It’s just that he can’t bring himself to even look directly at Kurosaki in his current state, much less speak full sentences in his radiant presence.

Uryuu rolls his eyes at himself. This is getting ridiculous. It’s not like Kurosaki has transformed into an irresistible idol since they all entered university last fall. He’s grown an extra two, three centimeters max and nothing else about him has changed. It is _Uryuu_ who has changed. Specifically, his perspective on things like relationships and sex in general has shifted. Whereas those topics were insignificant in the grand scheme of things before, now they seem a tad more relevant. Blame it on budding adulthood or maturing libido or college culture or _whatever_ , but he finds himself daydreaming about scenarios he really never used to care much about.

And to his chagrin, those scenarios tend to center primarily around one person in particular.

Another page is flipped but his eyes aren’t fixed on the book anymore. Impulse outweighs resolve and he glances at Kurosaki. His breath hitches almost imperceptibly, slipping out as a silent sigh of longing because _damn_ …So much better than he imagined.

It is the height of summer: the sun at its zenith, cicadas wheezing rhythmically, and enough humidity saturating the air to alter the texture of paper between his fingertips. Consequently, every unlucky soul stuck outdoors is sweating. Uryuu is not a fan of sweat on himself or anyone else, but when Kurosaki does it he _glistens_. Even as Uryuu chastises his inner starving artist for that particularly lame observation, more tacky poetry spills into the forefront because he needs to immortalize this moment in his mind. The impressive spectrum of his hair’s fiery hues blazing in afternoon sunlight. The graceful arc of his neck as he tilts his head back to idly cloud-gaze. The enticing silhouette of him in knee-length shorts and a tight t-shirt emphasizing his athletic figure. The subtle play of strong muscle across chest and collar bone when he takes a deep breath of contentment.

The water bottle in Kurosaki’s grip is raised to his lips for a few quick sips. Uryuu has never been jealous of an inanimate object before.

Three seconds, that’s all he allots himself to stare. He counts them down in his head and averts his eyes when the self-imposed limit is reached. The damage is done, however, and Uryuu licks his lips like he’s savoring the figurative flavor of that much hotness distilled into one person. He wants it so bad he can practically taste the salt on Kurosaki’s skin.

“Are you thirsty, Ishida-kun?”

Startled, he twitches to notice Inoue-san watching him in concern. He almost forgot she was there, stationed between Kurosaki and him on the bench like a feminine buffer counterbalancing her two male companions. She wordlessly offers an unopened water bottle from the tote bag bracketed by her ankles. Embarrassment stings up the back of his neck as Uryuu realizes she just caught him sultrily licking his lips like a lecher. He takes the bottle with a quiet word of thanks, setting the book on his lap to unscrew the cap for a swig. Kurosaki is appraising him when he glances up but, miraculously, he doesn’t choke.

“You okay, Ishida? You look kinda flushed.”

“I’m fine.”

If he’s put off by Uryuu’s stiff tone, he doesn’t show it. Kurosaki wipes the back of his hand across his damp forehead and irritably announces, “Well, I’m not. It’s too fuckin’ hot out here.”

“Watch your language around Inoue-san.”

“Ah, sorry, Inoue.”

“It’s all right, Kurosaki-kun,” she enthusiastically pardons. How she has the energy to be chipper in this heat is a mystery. “It is pretty warm, huh? I wish I remembered to bring a tie for my hair…”

“Allow me.”

Plucking a pen from one of his bag’s various pockets, Uryuu brings up a knee to sit sideways on the bench and gestures for her to turn away from him. He gently gathers up her waist-length hair and neatly French braids it from roots to ends, then wraps it in an elegant spiral anchored with the pen. The whole process takes less than two minutes but it seems longer when Kurosaki’s eyes are following every move his hands make. Inoue pats her hair curiously and makes a delighted noise at what she discovers.

“Wow, Ishida-kun, you’re a great hairdresser! When did you learn how to braid?”

He starts to answer but Kurosaki snorts and says, “Just now, knowing him.”

It sounds like a compliment but Uryuu knows better. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re freakishly good with your hands,” he lazily intones, propping an elbow against the back of the bench to rest his head on a palm. “What else?”

No snarky retort to the rhetorical question is delivered. Uryuu is too busy fending off a spontaneous fantasy wherein he finds more creative reasons to make Kurosaki praise his dexterity. He covers for the inner struggle with a careful swallow of water.

“Ishida-kun is good at everything he does,” affably asserts Inoue-san.

Kurosaki’s mouth curves into a taunting smirk as he agrees, “Freakishly.”

“Like you can talk,” Uryuu mutters without looking at him. “Your eye color is the only normal thing about you.”

“Takes one to know one, right?”

And for some awful, screwed up reason he thinks Kurosaki’s innocent question is somehow a double entendre. That he’s hinting he and Uryuu have more in common than instant ‘freak’ status in all the usual categories. That Kurosaki is secretly hitting on him right in front of the poor girl who’s been pining for that kind of attention since they were fifteen years old. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Disgusted with himself, Uryuu lets the subject drop and goes back to pretend-reading his novel.

“No wonder you’re hot, Kurosaki-kun, you’re the only one without shade! Should we trade seats? I don’t mind!”

“Nah, I’ll survive.”

“It’s the perfect opportunity to work on his perfect tan,” Uryuu derisively comments into the crease of his book.

“Hey, not all of us can pull off paleness as well as you two.” He’s pathetically happy to be filed under the same ‘pulling off paleness’ column with Inoue-san. Pondering the situation for a beat, Kurosaki says, “Now that you mention it, I could probably use some sun.”

There’s no way he’s actually going to—Oh, sweet shiny Buddha, he is! Uryuu turns in time to watch the t-shirt go over his head in slow motion, torso rippling mesmerizingly with the movement. His mouth goes dry and his eyes flare to see Kurosaki half-naked in broad daylight like it isn’t inherently pornographic with a body like that. Scandalous, as well, considering the astonishing array of scars carved into flesh; records of the wars he has won. Uryuu holds the title for highest _number_ —counting all the little lines etched into hands and forearms like oblique patterns spun in spiders’ silk—but Kurosaki gets the gold medal for sheer _size_ of scars. The fact that he knows they are automatically a spectacle wherever he goes yet he still has the confidence to show them off is incredibly sexy.

“What are you doing, Kurosaki? Hasn’t anyone told you it’s considered rude to strip in front of a woman?”

“I-I don’t mind,” Inoue-san repeats in a tiny voice.

Something about her timid demeanor has Uryuu studying her closely. It suddenly occurs to him that she shares the exact same inclinations toward Kurosaki. She is watching him with the same fascination, the same _desire_ as Uryuu. For all he knows, Inoue-san is also mentally composing goofy poems in honor of her favorite Shinigami. Plus, she’s sitting right beside Kurosaki. She’s getting a concentrated dose of his radioactive eminence and it’s no wonder she appears so energetic when she has probably never been this jittery in her entire life!

It’s such an unsettling revelation that he almost grabs his bag and walks away from them, away from the whole situation and the twisted triangle of which only he is aware. What keeps him from doing precisely that is the slow drag of Kurosaki’s gaze over his form. It feels like indulgence, but Uryuu can’t bring himself to step out of that rare spotlight and ease back into obscurity so easily.

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first,” accuses Kurosaki.

“I am not,” he denies with an anxious adjustment of his glasses. “I would never!”

“Why not? It’s a lot cooler. I bet Inoue would do it if she could.”

She giggles nervously and glances between them. Struck speechless by such idiocy, no doubt.

“One, it’s improper.” Kurosaki’s scoff communicates his low opinion of common propriety. Uryuu glares. “Two, I’m not comfortable baring my chest for all to see.”

“You’re too modest.”

“I-it has nothing to do with modesty!” He forces the words past a tongue tied into knots by the implications regarding his level of appeal. “It’s because of my scar.”

“I’ve got plenty of scars and you don’t hear me whining about ‘em.”

“You don’t have one like this,” he grouchily informs Kurosaki.

An orange eyebrow arches. “Really? What’s so special about it?”

His attention is aimed at the area in question and Uryuu folds his arms over his chest defensively. “None of your business!”

“Come on, Ishida, you can’t ‘tell’ and then refuse to ‘show.’ That’s not how it works.”

“We’re not kids anymore, Kurosaki.”

“Exactly. So, quit being childish and let us see this hideous scar of yours.”

Indignity bolsters his volume as he proclaims, “I’m not being childish!”

“You don’t have to show us if you don’t want to.” Which is Inoue-san’s polite way of admitting she’s curious, too.

They’re both staring at him now. Uryuu knows they’re picturing it. He doesn’t want to guess what gruesome shapes they’re imagining when the reality isn’t that horrible. It’s symmetrical, at least. The indentation is shallow and uniform. It almost resembles some manner of tribal branding and in a way, it is. If he got the outline inked in, it could even pass for a tattoo. There’s an idea.

He sighs and lowers barring arms. Pinching the tab at his throat, he ignores the way Kurosaki leans in to peer over Inoue-san’s shoulder as he slowly unzips his shirt. The thought of a random passerby catching them in the middle of this awkward moment triggers a blush. The way his friends are ogling him doesn’t help. Neither does Inoue-san’s gasp, nor Kurosaki’s intrigued hum.

After a handful of seconds, Uryuu goes to zip it right back out of sight but a hand darts out to halt his in the process. Kurosaki’s eyes flick to his, then drop down again. He says, “Wait. I’m not done looking.”

_Well, I’m done letting you look_ , is what he would say if he wasn’t utterly incapable of speech.

There is another reason for his fixation with the part-time Shinigami. One Uryuu doesn’t even like to admit to himself because it’s stupid and baffling and nonsensical. In a word: reiryoku. Specifically, _Kurosaki’s_ reiryoku, and he doesn’t know whether it’s due to the unorthodox method Uryuu used to save his life after their Hollow-hunting match went appallingly askew of his original plan, or something else altogether. All he knows is it’s in his very best interest to never, ever let Kurosaki touch him.

It takes an alarming amount of willpower to dislodge the man’s grasp and scoot out of range. Adopting a disaffected air is even more challenging but Uryuu chooses to believe he accomplishes the feat. Beneath the serene veneer he projects is physiological pandemonium: pulse racing, blood heating, lungs spasming, stomach churning, brain short-circuiting as the residual power transferred through that brief link crackles across his skin like static electricity.

If either of them notices the way his hand shakes as he zips the shirt shut, no one mentions it. Uryuu turns away from them and tucks the novel—a.k.a. his prop—into his bag with every intention of leaving the pair alone with each other. Although he feels a little guilty for bailing on Inoue-san, it must be done. This isn’t something he could have prepared for. He can count the number of times Kurosaki has ever had cause to touch him on one hand. It is inexplicably jarring every single time and he would rather go lick his metaphorical wounds in solitude than play chaperone while his composure gradually bleeds out like sand through an hourglass.

He loops the strap of his messenger bag over a shoulder, stands up, and mutters, “Freak show’s over. I’m going home.”

“Huh?” When he strides off without explanation, Kurosaki calls, “Ishida, wait!”

Uryuu doesn’t wait. If anything, he speeds his steps and considers resorting to _hirenkyaku_ if necessary. Kurosaki catches up with him anyway, hastily wrangling his shirt back on and gearing up to say or ask or do something moronic but Uryuu doesn’t have the patience for it.

“Stay with Inoue-san,” he sternly orders.

“And let you run off thinking we’re laughing at you? Or grossed out? Before you decided to act all emo, I was about to tell you I think your scar looks really cool. Honestly.”

His brow furrows in mounting agitation. “Great. Now that you’ve told me, go back to—”

“Inoue will be fine by herself.”

“You should at least walk her home.”

“I’m pretty sure she won’t get lost navigating the park in her own damn neighborhood.”

“That’s not the point, Kurosaki. Is it so hard to be a little considerate on occasion?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” The response is pursed lips and a disapproving shake of Uryuu’s head. Kurosaki reaches for him as he starts to request, “Will you stop for a se—”

“Don’t touch me!” His tone advertises anger despite a flash of panic interrupting his heart’s rhythm. “Whatever it is you’re trying to do right now, _don’t_. You’ll get better results with Inoue-san, believe me.”

“Why don’t you walk her home if you’re so worried?”

_Because she’s in love with_ **you** , he wants to scream. Uryuu won’t betray her trust, though, and he resents this idiot for being too dim to reach that vital conclusion on his own. He slows to a stop on the park’s periphery and Kurosaki maneuvers to face him—or to block his escape route.

“Maybe I will.”

“What the hell is your problem today, Ishida? You’ve been acting weird all afternoon!”

“I…”

He trails off because a fat drop of rain splatters the left lens of his glasses. They gaze up at the darkening sky as more drops begin to fall. Evidently, they were so embroiled in brewing drama that they failed to notice the brewing storm. He thought it felt a bit cooler than earlier.

Picking up momentum fast, the rain pelts mercilessly down in drenching droves within seconds. They have no time to seek shelter. At any rate, there really isn’t much nearby aside from some tall shrubs and a few sparse-limbed trees. So, they stand in the middle of the pathway getting soaked and pointlessly scowling at each other. Uryuu knows that Inoue-san always carries a compact umbrella in her bag. He also knows that she would insist on sharing the miniature thing if he were to walk her home, which would not turn out well for either of them, and Uryuu would feel bad for inadvertently being the reason she didn’t stay dry.

He sighs and sidesteps Kurosaki to head home. It’s really not surprising that Uryuu is stubbornly followed.

Raising his voice over the rain’s roar, Kurosaki asks, “Are we seriously not gonna talk about this?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Then look me in the eye and tell me you’re not mad at me.”

Uryuu looks him in the eye and tells him, “I’m not mad at you.”

It rings as truth because it is; he’s not mad at Kurosaki, he’s mad at himself. For being inexcusably weak-willed. For craving something he doesn’t deserve. For wishing circumstances could be different even if someone else has to suffer for his selfishness.

“Uh…Okay, I wasn’t expecting that,” he admits, mentally regrouping. “Still, you can’t say you’re not upset. Can you?”

He can’t, and he doesn’t do Kurosaki the injustice of contriving a lie but he also isn’t willing to divulge the genuine source of his strife. Uryuu knows what to say and how to act to make the man leave him alone but he doesn’t do that, either. The sad fact of the matter is he’s sort of enjoying the attention. He is absolutely enjoying the lovely image of a sopping wet Kurosaki in his now semi-transparent t-shirt. Yet, those two facts only serve to intensify his sense of self-loathing. It’s not healthy. He lacks the strength to change any of it.

“Can this discussion wait until we make it out of the storm?”

“‘We’?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Yeah, um…” Clearing his throat, Kurosaki finishes, “Sure. Lead the way, I guess.”

“I already am.”


	2. Chapter 2

The lock clicks, the handle turns, and the door swings open to reveal a richly decorated foyer—not a single detail of which has been altered since Uryuu’s grandmother still ran the place. Based on what little Ryuuken has told him about the strict woman, he doesn’t begrudge never meeting her. She did have a keen eye for home décor, though, if you’re into that sort of thing. One glimpse of the place boasts ‘wealth.’ Or ‘pretension’ as Uryuu likes to label it. Whatever the description, the ornate ambiance stuns Kurosaki into momentary silence as they shuffle inside. The interim doesn’t last long.

“What is this place? Is this where you _live_?”

“The key I’m holding didn’t give it away?” he quips, jingling the ring in demonstration as they slide and squeak out of slick shoes. His bag is abandoned to dry in the entryway.

“Yeah, but I mean this house—this _mansion_ is insane! Should I start calling you ‘young master?’”

“Only if you want me to hit you.”

Kurosaki laughs and says, “And to think all this time I figured you were poor.”

“I am poor. It’s Ryuuken who’s rich.”

Tailing Uryuu through the hall to the east wing, he prompts, “Speaking of your dad, is he…?”

“Doctors don’t get summer breaks, remember? He won’t be back until six or seven at the earliest. Even then running into him is unlikely. We live on separate sides of the house and he spends most of his time in the office upstairs.”

“In that case, I can see why you didn’t want to stay in one of the dorms. As much as you hate him, the fancy digs kinda make up for it, huh?”

“Actually, I wanted to live closer to campus. I just can’t afford it.”

“Not even with a roommate?”

“Have you met me? Who do you know that would put up with a controlling neat-freak who frequently goes for midnight strolls and occasionally comes back bloody? They would probably assume I’m in some kind of gang. Not to mention this strange scar I can’t explain without sounding like a lunatic. ‘My father shot me with a magical arrow so I could regain the special monster-killing powers I lost dueling a genocidal scientist in Heaven.’ I’m sure that would go over well.”

“Good point.” Pensive features brighten as he begins, “Well, maybe…um.” Something he reads in Uryuu’s expression squashes whatever idea sprang to mind. He lowers his gaze and mumbles, “Never mind.”

Just as well, since they’ve stopped in front of their destination. Opening the door for Kurosaki, he says, “You can use the shower in this guest room. My bedroom is two doors down on the right when you’re done. We can toss our clothes in the dryer, which won’t take long. I’ll try to find something for you to wear in the meantime.”

He nods and wanders into the room. Uryuu waits for the bathroom light to come on before turning to go. He doesn’t take more than two steps and Kurosaki is already calling him back. Uryuu hesitates, then enters the room and halts at the bathroom’s threshold.

“Towels?”

“In the cabinet. I would recommend a bathrobe, though. It’s warmer.”

“Thanks.” His host pivots to exit but Kurosaki calls, “Hey, Ishida?”

Rotating to face the doorway, Uryuu balks to find the man hovering much closer than a moment ago. He works hard to conceal apprehension incited by the decrease in proximity.

“What?”

“You’re really not mad at me?”

“No, Kurosaki.”

“Then, can I see it again? Your scar, I mean. I didn’t get a good look earlier.”

The request is so unexpected it’s almost dizzying. Uryuu resolves to give him another curt ‘no.’ He opens his mouth and starts to form the word, coaxes his countenance into something vaguely aggravated. But Kurosaki is staring at him with those earnest eyes and he can’t. He just _can’t_. The false antagonism he gathered into himself like noxious smoke pours out in a heavy sigh.

“I’m already regretting this,” Uryuu grumbles as he eases the zipper down.

“No, you’re not.” Fingers curl around the flaps of a parted shirt and Kurosaki drags him further into the room. “Need more light.”

His stomach lurches not from the sudden motion, but from the impossibility of Kurosaki pulling him closer. Drawing him in. His pulse picks up as a forbidden wish is whispered in the back of his mind. Uryuu’s unfocused gaze is aimed over the man’s left shoulder but the direction is irrelevant. Eyes open or closed, all he can see is a future where Kurosaki keeps pulling him until they stumble into the shower together and events take their natural—unnatural?—course.

Uryuu snaps back to the present as his right wrist is electrocuted. Well, that’s sort of what it feels like when Kurosaki takes tentative hold and raises it to examine Souken’s necklace looped there like a bracelet. Uryuu realizes he’s comparing the Quincy pendant with the matching mark over his heart. How uncharacteristically observant of him! That’s not all Kurosaki notices, either. He hears the way Uryuu’s breathing has gone rough around the edges, sees the new tension in his posture, and feels his frantic heart rate in the wrist he holds. Kurosaki’s eyes widen a little and he starts to speak but Uryuu beats him to the punch.

“Didn’t I tell you not to touch me?”

That it comes out evenly and with only a hint of breathlessness is a minor miracle. Kurosaki releases his grip immediately and both arms return to their respective sides as if it never happened. Uryuu starts to retreat. He isn’t stopped a third time.

The door to his bedroom is slammed shut and he leans against it for much needed support. He still doesn’t understand why Kurosaki has this effect on him but he knows it’s the one secret between them that has to stay buried. Uryuu just came terrifyingly close to unearthing it and the near miss sets him panting from a spike of adrenaline. Bringing Kurosaki here was a huge mistake! It seems unforgivably reckless in retrospect. After all, there is a very good reason—a _series_ of reasons Uryuu has never invited him home and this is one of them.

He pads into the en-suite bathroom and flips the shower tap on, resentful of the way his hands are trembling from something other than the cold. His clothes are cast off almost aggressively—glasses clattering haphazardly onto the counter at a flick of his wrist—and he steps under the spray. The water is too hot but he doesn’t adjust the temperature. Instead, he hopes it will distract him from the dangerous notion that Kurosaki is doing the exact same thing right now. The only difference is _he_ isn’t half-hard and woozy with want. Uryuu won’t do anything about it. He never does because he knows better than to encourage his own errant hormones. Who knows how much worse it would be if he’d been touching himself to thoughts of Kurosaki all this time!?

Showering as swiftly as he can, Uryuu dries off and gets dressed like he’s under a deadline. He uses the extra time to scrounge for something Kurosaki and his big, dumb muscles can squeeze into. It would be simpler to swipe something of Ryuuken’s but there is zero chance he’ll lend one of his father’s outfits to someone he dearly wants to sleep with. Uryuu does not need any more confusion added to this convoluted equation, thanks.

The final verdict is a navy blue pair of athletic pants and a plain white t-shirt. Unfortunately, he isn’t the type to favor loose-fitting attire but Kurosaki will just have to deal with it.

On cue, there is a knock at the door as Uryuu drops the folded garments onto the corner of his bed. He pauses with a hand on the knob, bracing himself to witness Kurosaki in a bathrobe, and pulls the door open. Except he’s not wearing a bathrobe. Having apparently vetoed that suggestion, he elected to go with the towel instead. And once again, Uryuu’s willpower is tested to an extreme degree as he struggles not to stare at the man’s wonderfully defined chest.

Not trusting himself to speak, he takes the soggy bundle of clothes Kurosaki holds and points to the intended exchange waiting atop his covers. Then Uryuu snatches up his own bundle stationed on the dresser and slips past him into the hall. The laundry room is a moderate distance away. He uses the travel time there and back to collect the remnants of his frayed poise. Although it is tempting to continue berating himself for the egregious error that was his offer of shelter from the rain, he knows it isn’t beneficial. His only solace is that he gets to kick Kurosaki out the minute their clothes are done drying.

Rather than head back to his room and the intrinsic trap laid therein, Uryuu fetches a mop and erases the trail of water they left in their wake. The last thing he needs is for Ryuuken to spot a speck of mud on his precious parquet and throw a fit over it. Of course, Kurosaki finds him soon anyway.

“Want some help with that?”

“I can manage.”

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s nearly done, Kurosaki. Don’t worry about it.” Finally glancing up from the task, Uryuu’s eye twitches to see him donned in nothing but borrowed pants. “You are just determined to go shirtless today, aren’t you?”

“Yours was too small,” he reflexively defends. “I didn’t want to stretch it out when I’d only be wearing it for half an hour anyway.”

“I’d prefer a ruined shirt over seeing you strut around my house partially nude.”

He didn’t mean to say it aloud. Too late to take it back now. Kurosaki frowns and walks off in the general direction of the sitting area they passed on the way in. Uryuu thinks it would be a great idea to hide in his room for the next twenty minutes. Anything to avoid joining him in the cozy, private living room. But he isn’t that much of a coward.

Instead, he goes to the kitchen and brews some tea. That eats up a good five minutes. Only fifteen to go. He carries two clay mugs into the living room with him. Kurosaki is lounging against the armrest of a sofa, one knee bent with a foot on the cushion while the other brushes toes over the carpet. The TV remote is held in his right palm as the left props up his tilted head. Talk about making yourself at home! Uryuu doesn’t say a word but holds out the cup of tea like a peace offering. The gesture is accepted with a barely audible mumble of appreciation. He kind of wishes Kurosaki would be less ingratiating. Then Uryuu might have a half-decent reason to be cold to him. As it stands, he’s starting to feel like a jerk for treating Kurosaki this way but he’s afraid that if he starts being nice it will have a snowball effect that ends with Uryuu making a fool out of himself. More so than he already has.

“What types of shows do you watch?”

“I rarely have time for television.” It sounds so snooty even he wants to smack himself but Kurosaki’s placid expression doesn’t sour. Uryuu retries, “When I do, though, it’s usually movies. Mainly dramas or the occasional thriller. I have a soft spot for low-budget horror films.”

Cracking a smirk, Kurosaki glances sidelong at him and says, “I could see that. Does the suspense make you jumpy?”

“Sometimes. You?”

“I don’t scare easily,” he answers without bravado, “but every once in a while, a good scene gets me. I like the rush.”

_I like the rush_. It echoes in Uryuu’s mind with the satisfaction of a perfect fit because that’s exactly how he feels. Flirting with Kurosaki is equivalent to flirting with disaster but it appeals to him all the same. They aren’t flirting, Uryuu firmly reminds himself. Not really. If they are, Kurosaki doesn’t know it and he sure as hell doesn’t mean it. But Uryuu really can’t help himself.

“Wow, Kurosaki, I never pegged you as a thrill-seeker. Nice job keeping that facet of your personality under wraps. Anything else you’d like to confess?”

Uryuu sips his tea right after he says it and doesn’t look over until the delayed response becomes worrying. Therefore, he only catches the tail-end of whatever weird face Kurosaki was just making before his attention switches back to the TV.

“If it’s trading secrets, you’ll win the game by default.” A vague sense of guilt stirs and Uryuu has nothing to say to that. “This is the part where you tell me the things I don’t know about you could fill a library, right? I think I’ve learned more about you in the past two hours than in the past two years.”

Kurosaki’s subtle rebuke forms a lump in his throat and he sets his tea on the table for fear of choking on it.

“What does it matter how much you do or don’t know about me?”

“Remember that time you convinced everyone you’d turned against your own friends to join up with the enemy? Pretty sure it would have mattered then.”

Ah, yes, that confrontation was fun. The dismay on his friends’ faces in that moment of betrayal was forever burned into Uryuu’s memory. Even if it was precisely his goal, their doubt _hurt_. The smile Kurosaki showed him once everything had been explained was like sunshine after a blizzard and he hated how readily it made everything okay again.

“It was the best plan I could come up with at the time.”

“It was a stupid plan and you know it! Not to mention really fucking cruel.”

“Why bring up ancient history? Are you trying to start a fight?”

“No, dumbass, I’m trying to tell you things would be a lot different if you’d just _let someone in_ for a change.”

Narrowing his eyes, Uryuu dubiously challenges, “Different how?”

No examples are given, which convinces him to dismiss the entire argument. This is classic Kurosaki. Instigating issues where there are none is a hobby of his, after all. At least where Uryuu is concerned.

Rather than indulge a pointless debate, he pulls his cell phone from a pocket to text Inoue-san. He apologizes for ditching her and asks if she made it home all right. She won’t hold it against him, he already knows, but that doesn’t make it better. Uryuu also adds that he got home safely. He doesn’t mention that Kurosaki followed him home like a lost puppy—a very confusing, aggravating puppy—because he doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea. Not that she has any reason to since nothing has or will ever happen that she should be concerned about. Aside from serving as eye candy with his propensity for shunning shirts, he might as well be a ghost for all Uryuu can realistically interact with him.

“Ishida.”

“Hm?”

His focus stays fixed on the screen until he finishes typing the message and hits ‘send.’ Only then does he turn his head to see Kurosaki has moved much closer to him, undetected. Uryuu gets about half a second to process this before every single neuron stops firing in crippling synchrony. It takes another couple of seconds for him to determine that he isn’t hallucinating or daydreaming. He hasn’t died and gone to…well, this sort of thing wouldn’t happen in Soul Society, either. Hueco Mundo is out, too, which means he must still be alive. Alive in ways he’s never been because…

Kurosaki is kissing him.

And Uryuu has wanted this so much for so long that he instantly closes his eyes and kisses Kurosaki in return without making the conscious decision. Sensations assail him all at once and there are no words for how amazing this feels. Even if there were, Uryuu wouldn’t be able to fish them out of a brain hopelessly flooded with elation and desire.

Kurosaki’s hand is contoured to the side of his face, fingers burrowing into his hair, holding him in place so the contact can be deepened. A thumb presses at Uryuu’s chin to open his mouth and he knows what that innocuous action foretells. From the first graze of Kurosaki’s tongue against his, he is lost. Checked out, on sabbatical, missing in action, just _gone_. There is a steady stream of reiryoku trickling into him and his tenuous control goes straight out the window to feel the energy buzzing in his bloodstream. Beckoned by the influx, Uryuu’s spirit slips its shackles to mingle with the warm current all the way to its source. He can practically sense their reiraku twining together, the red and white threads swirling like an ethereal candy cane. Kurosaki’s grip tightens on a shallow gasp and he advances that much further. Uryuu makes a small, helpless sound that signals complete surrender. Whatever Kurosaki wants from him, he can have it. As much as he wants for as long as he wants in whichever ways he wants because nothing will ever make Uryuu feel this good again.

The moment is broken when the phone he’s still clutching abruptly vibrates. It registers as a thousand-volt zap. He jolts out of the kiss and Kurosaki’s hold to blink at the object in his palm as though he forgot what it’s for. Except he hasn’t forgotten and the notification of Inoue-san’s reply highlights the terrible, _terrible_ mistake he just made. Uryuu looks up at the love of her life, the man he was just _making out_ with, and despises himself to his core because he wants to lean right back in and keep going. For all intents and purposes, Kurosaki already has a ring on his finger but it doesn’t stop Uryuu from wishing with his whole being that this didn’t have to end. It should never have happened in the first place.

He sucks in a bracing breath and withdraws in every sense of the word. Alarm overtakes Kurosaki’s features when he realizes where this is going.

“Ishida—”

“I…I need to go check on our clothes,” he tonelessly states before rising to do just that.

The hall is traversed robotically, unseen. Uryuu’s mind is stuck in the living room, reliving the experience over and over in vivid detail until he bumps into a carved column. Even then, his surroundings fade surreal in the wake of a dream come true. He makes it to the laundry room somehow and opens the dryer to test the fabric within. Kurosaki’s jean shorts are still a little bit damp but he is beyond caring about such trivialities. Uryuu has to get him _out_ as soon as possible and preferably never cross paths with him again. Best case scenario: he transfers to another university far, far away so the temptation to ruin Inoue-san’s ideal future will never be an issue.

Straightening with an armful of clothes, Uryuu freezes to hear the Shinigami’s steps as he enters the room.

“Ishida.”

“Here,” he says, pivoting to push the bundle into Kurosaki’s custody. “Go change. Take one of the umbrellas from the foyer—”

“Ishida, will you slow down for a minute?”

“—and feel free to keep it. We have plenty.”

Uryuu starts to leave but an arm is barred across the doorway, Kurosaki’s body blocking it. He doesn’t dare try to push past. In fact, he takes a few steps back for safety’s sake.

“Ishida, look at me.” With great reluctance, he does, and swallows hard at the array of emotions he reads in Kurosaki’s expression. “Don’t shut me out, okay? Tell me what you’re thinking so we can talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” sullenly insists Uryuu.

An impatient frown darkens his demeanor but it eases as he softly begins, “If you had any idea how long I’ve—”

“I’m not listening to this nonsense. Move out of my way.”

“Are you seriously going to act like you didn’t just _feel that_?” Unsure whether Kurosaki is referencing how their reiryoku interacted or the kiss itself, he decides it really doesn’t matter and prudently keeps quiet on the subject. “Ishida, the way we kissed—”

“Shut up!” A dual-edged flush of anger and pleasure rises up like steam. “Stop saying my name like that!”

His response is low and careful, crafted to kill. “Should I call you ‘Uryuu’ instead?”

It lodges in his heart, as intended, and he can’t even glare like he wants to. The insinuations are devastating. He won’t acknowledge them but they wreak havoc on his mental state nonetheless.

Weakened, all he can do is murmur, “Just…go home, Kurosaki. _Please_.”

The rebellious gleam fades from his eyes on the last word. He studies Uryuu for a tense moment and grudgingly relents, “If that’s really what you want—”

“It is.”

“Then I’ll go. But we will have this conversation sooner or later.”

Kurosaki pauses after that declaration, waiting for him to launch a fresh round of banter, but he won’t take the bait. On the verge of a minor breakdown, Uryuu doesn’t even have the energy to project a defiant façade. He stares at a spot on the wall until he can’t hear Kurosaki’s footsteps anymore. When he deems it safe to move, Uryuu leans against the washing machine behind him and just breathes.

He goes back to his room—always the safest place in the whole house—after a while and takes his phone out as he sinks into his desk chair. Part of him wants to call Inoue-san immediately, tell her everything, and beg forgiveness for being a horrible human being. Yet, he knows it is the most selfish thing he can possibly do. Confessing that he kissed Kurosaki would only hurt her. It wouldn’t solve anything and it wouldn’t ease Uryuu’s conscience. It would just make him feel like more of a monster than he already does.

The best course of action for everyone involved is to forget today ever happened and move on. He won’t even waste his time brooding over why Kurosaki would do something like that in the first place. It doesn’t matter because there won’t be a repeat of the indiscretion. Regardless of what the Shinigami believes, they will not be having any conversations relating to this afternoon’s events. If Uryuu has his way, they won’t be having any conversations at all. Not for a while, anyway.

Decision made, he looks down at his cell to read Inoue-san’s latest message. Except his eye catches on something that doesn’t belong. On the lower right corner of his wide desk calendar is a scribbled note that wasn’t there this morning. Leaning closer to parse the messy jumble of kanji, he feels his heart thud riotously to recognize it as Kurosaki’s handwriting. He’d know it in a heartbeat since they have this habit of keeping a two column notebook between them in the classes they share, Uryuu on the right and Kurosaki on the left, like a real-life chat room.

_Ichigo was here_ , it says. Sketched below the words is a smiley face with its tongue sticking out, agitated eyebrows scrunched in uncanny resemblance to the man who drew them.

As if he needs to stake a claim on Uryuu’s territory when he already has dominion over his thoughts! He laughs, the sound redolent of hysteria, and grabs a black marker from his pencil cup. Thumbing off the cap, he holds the felt tip above the note, poised to blot it out of existence. But he can’t do it. He wants to resent Kurosaki for giving him a taste of what he craves more than almost anything but he can’t do that, either, because the way they kissed…

Uryuu drops the marker, shuts his eyes, and lowers his head to rest on the desk. He’s going to think about it again—and again, and again _ad infinitum_ —and there is nothing he can do to prevent it.


	3. Chapter 3

They don’t see each other again until classes resume.

Although Kurosaki tried to call him a couple times during break, he seemed to figure out that Uryuu doesn’t want anything to do with him and gave up soon enough. Aside from the ruthless excision of that troublesome Shinigami, life has continued as usual. He has been hanging out with Inoue-san about every other day and he hasn’t spilled the secret. He never will, on pain of death. Of all the people Uryuu has ever known, she deserves to be happy the most and he could never forgive himself if he took that away from her.

They meet up for lunch on the first day of the new semester and walk back to campus together after. His lecture hall is closest and Inoue-san pauses just outside the double doors with one more thing to say.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you, Ishida-kun,” she tentatively begins, brushing windswept hair behind her shoulder. “And please promise you’ll tell me the truth even if I won’t like it!”

His hand tightens around the bag’s strap slung across his chest. Surely Kurosaki didn’t mention…!

“A-all right. I promise.”

“Well, I was thinking about how long we’ve known each other and how you’re one of my closest friends.”

“Yes…?” Uryuu nervously prompts when she doesn’t continue. He resists a strong urge to fidget with his glasses.

“I spend almost as much time with you as Tatsuki-chan and she’s my roommate! So, it just seems sort of silly is all.”

“What seems silly?”

“That we still call each other by our family names,” she says with a shy smile. “Would it be okay if I called you ‘Uryuu-kun’ from now on? Ah—but it’s fine if you don’t want to!”

Relief melts like chocolate on his tongue, summoning a sweet smile to match hers. “I don’t mind at all. In that case, may I call you ‘Orihime-chan?’”

“Of course!” She glances at the sunflower wristwatch Uryuu bought for her eighteenth birthday and gasps. “Oh, I’d better hurry or I’ll be late. Call me tonight and tell me how you like your new classes?”

“I will. Have a great first day back, Orihime-chan.”

“You, too, Uryuu-kun!”

They wave and she turns to hurry down the hall.

The smile slides right off his face to spot Kurosaki approaching from the same direction. Having passed the final set of doors lining the corridor, the only possible destination is a large room at the very end; the same one Uryuu is standing beside. He assumed they would share classes this year, as well, but he was hoping otherwise.

“Hey, Inoue.”

“Hi, Kurosaki-kun—Bye, Kurosaki-kun!”

Their eyes meet for a mere instant before Uryuu is swiveling to enter the lecture room without offering a word in greeting. There are already quite a few students filling the tiered seating inside. He has to squeeze behind a few of them to get a spot on the third row, though he typically prefers the front. Ten seconds later, Kurosaki settles into the chair on his left, which is also typical. If not for recent events, nothing would be amiss about the situation in the slightest.

“Hey, Ishida.” He’s just grateful Kurosaki didn’t use his given name. “Long time no see.”

Uryuu is spared from scrounging for a reply to that passive-aggressive sentiment by the professor’s timely entrance.

While introductions are made and syllabi are passed around, Kurosaki pulls a familiar notebook from his bag, folds back the front flap, and slaps it between them on the curved strip of table they share. He starts to write something on a fresh page and Uryuu does his best to conceal a resigned sigh. The worst part is he can’t use concentrating on the lesson as an excuse. First days are always tedious; all they entail are explanations and expectations. Speaking of expectations, he reluctantly reads what Kurosaki wrote.

_I want to talk to you after class_.

Uryuu’s left hand zips over to swiftly reply, _No._

Giving him a dark look, Kurosaki points out, _It wasn’t a question_.

_When have I ever responded well to your demands?_

_You never respond well to anything_.

_So take the hint and quit bothering me._

He makes an irritated noise with tongue and teeth, glaring at Uryuu outright.

_I wouldn’t have to bother you if you’d answered the phone. You’re lucky I didn’t show up at your house._

_You’re the lucky one, considering that visit would not have ended well for you._

After reading the latest retort, Kurosaki angrily flips the page to signal an end to that belligerent discussion. It takes several minutes for him to broach another topic.

_I noticed you and Inoue got closer this summer. She’s never invited me to call her ‘Orihime.’_

Uryuu’s head snaps up to stare in disbelief. Kurosaki blinks blandly at him, a subtle challenge layered beneath his cool countenance. Is he seriously suggesting…?

_Since when are you the type who needs inviting? Try it the next time you see her. She’ll be thrilled._

It isn’t meant as sarcasm but Kurosaki seems to interpret it that way. _Just like you were, I bet._

Blood freezing at the indirect reference to that day, Uryuu focuses on the syllabus instead of him. He takes a highlighter to the thing almost at random and jots down a few lines the professor is droning at a snail’s pace. Kurosaki stubbornly nudges the notebook closer to him. From the corner of his eye, Uryuu can see something else has been written but he refuses to read it. He can’t do this right now. He _won’t_ , no matter how pissed Kurosaki gets over it.

Eventually, he understands Uryuu isn’t willing to play along anymore. Kurosaki puts the notebook away, props his chin on a palm, and proceeds to pout for the remainder of the session.

When class ends, Uryuu takes his time packing up. He doesn’t have another class for the next hour and he wants to spend it perusing the student bookstore for supplementary materials recommended in the syllabus. The fact that Kurosaki waits to stand until he does is entirely too foreboding. Which is why Uryuu is outraged but not surprised when the strap of his bag is grabbed and tugged like a leash as soon as they step into the hall.

“Kurosaki!”

Uryuu doesn’t put up much resistance. Less because he’s okay with this, more because he doesn’t want to rip his favorite messenger bag and he won’t risk contact with Kurosaki just to shake him loose. Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. He releases the hold after dragging Uryuu into a vacant classroom with lights left off and blinds closed from the day before. The space is dim and quiet but nowhere near calming. Not when Kurosaki is standing between him and the exit with a determined expression.

“I told you I wanted to talk.”

“And I told you _no_. Besides, is this really the best place for a private conversation?”

“What am I supposed to do, Ishida? You won’t answer my calls or let me come over and you sure as hell won’t go within five blocks of my place.”

Very true. Also not the point.

“So, rather than respect my wishes you decide to _abduct_ _me_ after class?” He takes a breath to reply but Uryuu curtly continues, “More importantly, didn’t I already make it clear that I have nothing to say to you?”

“Then you can just listen.” It’s Kurosaki’s turn to preempt dissension by launching straight into it, “It’s pretty obvious that I don’t understand how your mind works—sometimes I’m convinced you don’t even know why you act the way you do—but I think it’s really fucked up that you would kiss me like you loved it and then yell at me like you hated it. You didn’t even give me a chance to explain that I did it because I really, _really_ li—”

A silencing palm is placed just in time. Uryuu has heard enough. His heart can’t take much more when it’s already constricting painfully between his ribs, threatening to burst under the pressure. Yet, the moment his hand meet’s Kurosaki’s mouth a tremor erupts from the dangerous connection. Fingers wrap around Uryuu’s wrist, making the rush of his reiryoku that much stronger, and he snatches his arm away as though singed. His features briefly contort into an unavoidable cringe.

“Don’t say something we’ll both regret,” he mutters during the stunned lull.

Ignoring the warning, Kurosaki solemnly observes, “You never used to flinch when I touched you.”

“You never used to touch me,” coldly corrects Uryuu.

“Maybe not,” he agrees, “but I wanted to.”

“I don’t want to hear this.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“Do you, Kurosaki? Do you get it? Because I can’t tell by the way you keep bringing it up!”

“You’re too smart to believe this would just go away. I need to know: if you really can’t stand me why did you—”

“I didn’t mean to!” Uryuu shouts, raising upturned palms like a plea. “You were just so god damned _sneaky_ about it! There was no time to brace myself and then it was too late, I was already…”

Kurosaki’s demeanor slowly shifts from confrontational to cautious. “What are you saying? Did you want to kiss me or not?”

“I-I don’t…” It is becoming harder to breathe, harder to think, harder to keep everything reined in the way he should. Uryuu breaks eye contact and snaps, “It’s not that simple, all right?”

“Yeah, it really is. I’m making it that simple. Yes or no: did you want to kiss me?”

“This isn’t fair. You can’t expect me to…”

Suddenly taking two steps closer, Kurosaki’s intense expression startles him silent. “Yes or no, Ishida?”

Both of Uryuu’s fists tightly grip the strap slanted across his torso. His fight-or-flight response is kicking in hard and he’s trembling a little because he can’t choose one or the other. Stand or flee, yes or no, heaven or hell, it’s all the same. No matter what he does he’s going to regret it. He’s going to suffer. He’s already suffering. He’s _been_ suffering since the day he decided his red-headed best friends are perfect for each other and he’s better off alone. What he wants from Kurosaki is nothing compared with what Orihime-chan _needs_ from him. Uryuu has no clue why he has recently caught the man’s attention but there is no doubt in his mind that it’s temporary. All Kurosaki needs is some guidance, a small push in the right direction and he’ll come back to his senses.

Molding his resolve into a relatively cohesive shape, Uryuu looks up and firmly answers, “N—”

He can’t even get a full syllable out. Kurosaki’s lips won’t let him. _And what magnificent lips they are_ , a tiny fraction of Uryuu’s brain whispers. That fraction swells alongside the power steadily seeping in to curl warmly in his belly like praise. Kurosaki eases in when he isn’t rejected, curving hands around his waist and the back of his neck. The stream of reiryoku widens into a river, quickly carving a pathway through dissolving lucidity, and Uryuu thinks he should really do something to curb the rising tide while he still can. He forces his hands to relinquish their death grip on his bag and press against Kurosaki’s chest instead. But he picks that moment to deepen the kiss and Uryuu’s fingers clench into his shirt as their tongues meet.

His thoughts shut off with the finality of a flipped switch, same as before, and he sinks right into it like a stone into the sea. He tilts his head and gives in wholeheartedly. The poor, stressed organ is pumping at maximum capacity to compensate for the marvelously perilous spike of lust Kurosaki’s kiss inspires. Yet, Uryuu’s blood is far from the only thing reacting to proceedings. His reiryoku also wants to join the fray, surging against the barrier containing it in a bid to battle with the Shinigami’s. If by ‘battle’ he means…something else entirely.

As though sensing the spiritual struggle within, Kurosaki separates their mouths just long enough to heatedly request, “Let it out, Ishida. I want to feel you, too.”

Uryuu’s soft moan kicks off round two. He gives what was so nicely asked for, releasing the hold on his power and letting it course through them both. The rhythm of Kurosaki’s breathing radically changes in the span of seconds. The hand at Uryuu’s waist migrates a little lower and grips a little tighter. Kurosaki pulls him closer, their legs adjusting easily to the shared stance, and hums in approval of Uryuu’s fingers slipping under his shirt to caress his lower back. Feeling the heat of Kurosaki’s bare skin does something to him. It makes him bold, maybe even a tiny bit feral. It grants him a different kind of clarity than what he lost and he knows what he needs to do next.

He breaks the kiss to shove Kurosaki away from him. Back, until he’s flat against the wall and Uryuu pins him there at arm’s length. Not laughing at Kurosaki’s bewilderment is tough but he manages it with the concession of an amused smirk. Uryuu doesn’t give him time to question the maneuver, diving right in again for part three of the torrid adventure—with an added upgrade of hips slotted as neatly together as lips. The sound of Kurosaki’s shocked moan shivers pleasantly down his spine. All Uryuu has to do to hear another one is smoothly rock against him. Friction takes care of the rest.

Kurosaki cups his ass with spread fingers and instinctively thrusts up in return. The output of his reiryoku abruptly doubles, encouraging Uryuu’s to rise in kind. He doesn’t know which of these developments makes his head spin faster but it feels like fighting. It feels like blood loss and adrenaline and victory. He knows all about fighting—war, wounds, strategy, fatigue—but this isn’t _that_. This isn’t something he has experienced before and he’s reasonably sure Kurosaki hasn’t, either. This is new. This is…

Sex. They are basically having sex right now, pressed against the wall of an empty classroom as if it’s a really firm, vertical mattress.

The revelation puts a moderate damper on Uryuu’s enthusiasm, makes him rethink the scenario from an alternate perspective. But it’s so hard to concentrate when his lungs can’t keep up with the demand for air and his entire body is saturated in the sweetest pleasure. Their kiss has transitioned to a wild, intermittent thing interspersed with the occasional gasp or groan. All the while, their hips slowly shift and grind, the purposeful pace a half-step from turning frantic.

One of his palms is glued to Kurosaki’s stomach, fascinated by the controlled flex of abs contrasting with the give and take of each shallow breath. Uryuu wants to slide it south. Wants to grasp Kurosaki’s stiff cock in his fist. Wants to feel it twitch and pulse at his touch. Wants to make him come with Uryuu’s tongue in his mouth. Wants to watch him tense up in ecstasy while Quincy reiryoku meshes seductively with its Shinigami counterpart.

He is so fixated on fantasizing about Kurosaki’s climax that he very nearly triggers his own. Uryuu jerks free of the kiss with an urgent noise but the rest of him is anchored in place by an immovable hold.

“Kurosaki, stop,” he begs between breaths, “stop or I-I’m going to…”

Even saying that much is unimaginably mortifying. Uryuu half-expects to be laughed at or teased for being on the brink of orgasm after a bit of making out, but Kurosaki huskily admits, “Me, too.”

It twists in his gut like the exhilaration before a fall and Uryuu reaches back to desperately grip one of his wrists while the other hand plants against the wall beside his shoulder. Kurosaki’s hips mercifully still and he locks gazes with him in dawning comprehension.

“You don’t want to—”

“Do I want to come in my jeans when I have class in about thirty minutes and another one after that?” Uryuu dislodges the man’s loosened grip and answers the ridiculous question. “No, I think I’ll pass.”

“I could go down on you,” Kurosaki casually offers, hooking a finger in one of the belt loops bracketing his zipper. “No mess, no problem, right?”

Oh, Uryuu _definitely_ has a problem.

He takes a full step back, cutting all contact between them, and asks, “Do you want to fuck me, Kurosaki?”

Astonishment is always a hilarious addition on him but Uryuu doesn’t feel like laughing right now.

“Wha—”

“Because that’s all I’ll ever want from you.”

His expression shutters at once. Frowning, he insists, “You don’t mean that.”

He does, and he knows Kurosaki can read the truth of it on his face. Rather than argue, Uryuu removes his smudged, skewed glasses and methodically cleans them with the hem of his shirt. It takes the better part of a minute but Kurosaki doesn’t say a word. Uryuu puts his glasses back on and taps them into precise alignment with the same gesture he has used since he got his very first pair. Only then does he lift his eyes to Kurosaki’s one last time.

“Bet you wish you never dragged me in here.”

They don’t speak to each other for over two months.

More accurately, Kurosaki doesn’t speak to him. He’s avoiding Uryuu this time around, and he can’t blame the man for being skittish after what happened in that classroom. They’re both adults and they can make their own choices. It’s fine.

What isn’t fine is the fact that Kurosaki is going to such lengths to avoid him that he has begun avoiding Orihime-chan, as well. It’s nobody’s fault that she likes to invite everyone out as a group but both Sado-kun and Arisawa-san are busy more often than not, leaving only Uryuu or Kurosaki to choose from. No matter how he subtly encourages her to spend more time with just Kurosaki, she won’t do it. She won’t say it but Uryuu knows it’s because being around the one she loves without being able to express that love is too hard. It’s not fair to Orihime-chan and he can’t help resenting Kurosaki for making her fret over how to balance two of her best friends who are acting strangely without telling her why.

Uryuu understands that they are all human—okay, slightly super-human—and these things happen. Relationships can wax and wane at a whim of emotion. It’s _fine_.

Except it really isn’t.

Last week he listened to Orihime-chan enthuse about a Day of the Dead theme party one of her classmates is throwing on Halloween night. She’s never been to a genuine house party before and it sounds like such fun! It’s not the kind of thing you go to alone, however, and she doesn’t want to pressure him at all but she would really like Uryuu to go with her. Orihime-chan apologized then, citing potential awkwardness because they aren’t a couple, and mentioned Kurosaki’s newfound reluctance to be involved with either of them. She doesn’t know what she did wrong but she thinks it’s her fault he’s been withdrawn lately.

And Uryuu grit his teeth, thankful they were talking over the phone rather than in-person because an immense wave of rage whipped through him to hear it. He softened his voice with effort and told her not to worry about it. They are going to that party together, all three of them, and they’re going to have a fantastic time.

Which is how he winds up standing outside of Kurosaki and Sado-kun’s apartment the night before the party. Uryuu hasn’t been here since Freshman year. He hates coming here because the whole place is slathered in Kurosaki’s reiryoku like a swamp exploded inside it, sludge perpetually oozing over everything and everyone unfortunate enough to be trapped in the blast radius.

If by ‘swamp sludge’ he means the most invigorating, delightful wash of ambient energy he’s ever felt.

It tests his restraint to an unpleasant extreme just to walk into the living room but he does it anyway. He even sits on the sofa and takes the cup of tea Sado-kun offers before excusing himself to power through a half-finished essay due first thing in the morning. Uryuu graciously waives his apology but secretly thinks the real reason is their sole loveseat of a couch that can’t possibly fit all three of them comfortably and Kurosaki is already lounging at the opposite end. Tuning them out in lieu of watching TV.

“I know you don’t want me here,” Uryuu begins once he hears the opening melody of some obscure rock song filter faintly through Sado-kun’s closed door. “If you never speak to me again, that’s your prerogative. I won’t hold it against you. Go ahead and pretend I don’t exist but don’t punish Orihime-chan because of me. She misses you, Kurosaki. She thinks you’re upset with her—that it’s her fault you’re acting like a sulking _child_ —and if you make her cry even once I won’t forgive you.”

Well, that would-be diplomatic speech took a turn for the worse toward the end but Uryuu won’t take it back when he meant every word. Still, he winces inwardly to see the cold, sharp glare Kurosaki shoots at him like one of his own arrows.

“You won’t forgive me?” he demands, flat tone leeching Uryuu’s sense of self-assurance. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Orihime-chan asked you to the party, didn’t she? If I’m the reason you turned her down, then I can’t let it slide. You have to go to this party for her sake or I’ll—”

“You’ll _what_ , Ishida?” Straightening from his languid slouch, Kurosaki turns toward him aggressively. “What else can you do to fuck with my head that you haven’t already?”

Feeling the shock he doesn’t want to show register on his features, Uryuu’s resolve wavers. He shouldn’t have come here. He knew it wouldn’t end well. Kurosaki is too immature to let bygones lie, or however that outdated idiom goes, but he’s gotten this far so he may as well go all-in.

“What are you hoping to accomplish with that attitude? Do you honestly think anything can be solved this way?”

Eyes narrowing scornfully, he mocks, “Of course you’ve got it all figured out, as usual. What’s your brilliant solution, then?”

“Personally, I’m fond of the ‘pretend it never happened’ method.”

“That’s it? I’m just supposed to pretend I don’t feel this way about you?”

Uryuu’s heart leaps into his throat. He swallows it down and looks away as he begins, “I’ve already told you I don’t—”

“You said Inoue misses me, right?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“What about you? Do you miss me, too? Did you think of me at all over the past two months?”

“Kurosaki…”

“Why can’t you ever give me a straight answer?” He knows it’s rhetorical by the way Kurosaki huffs and complains, “You’re the most dishonest person I know.”

The bitter observation bites like a blade. Uryuu bristles even as he wilts because he can’t deny it. Sometimes the weight of all the secrets he keeps wears him down to the extent that he can barely get out of bed in the morning. There are even secrets he keeps from himself and…maybe this is one of them because he has missed Kurosaki. Not right away, but after a couple of weeks he found himself wondering about the man or glancing across the room at him in class. The seat to Uryuu’s left feels unsettlingly empty without a certain Shinigami there to fill it. Likewise, the study sessions and lunch dates they don’t schedule anymore have left a gap in his weekly itinerary that he can’t bring himself to fill with anything—or _anyone_ —else.

“I miss you.”

“What?”

He spoke in a strained whisper but Kurosaki’s incredulous expression suggests he heard it just fine. Uryuu repeats, “I miss you. I thought about you. Contrary to what I’ve led you to believe, I do care about you. As a friend.”

It isn’t quite what Kurosaki wants to hear but it’s better than he was expecting. It’s the first time Uryuu has ever voluntarily labeled them ‘friends’ rather than adamantly claiming they are and always will be enemies. The crease between Kurosaki’s brow eases incrementally. Deep in thought, he stares hard at Uryuu for a charged moment.

“You care about me as a friend,” Kurosaki carefully establishes, “and you’re attracted to me.” Uryuu reluctantly nods, as if it hasn’t already been confirmed. _Twice_. “But you won’t go out with me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Now, that’s one secret Uryuu absolutely cannot confess. He shakes his head and says, “All that matters is I won’t change my mind so you might as well—”

“Forget about you?” Kurosaki laughs, the harsh cadence of it making Uryuu twitch. “You don’t think I’ve tried? The only reason I had the courage to kiss you that day was because I saw the way you looked at me in the park and thought maybe…But I still can’t believe you actually _kissed me back_.”

Neither can he. Uryuu painstakingly built up so many walls between them over the years, it should’ve taken an emotional wrecking ball to break through but Kurosaki’s kiss pulled it off all on its own. He doesn’t want to consider the ramifications of that miracle. This discussion is making him more uncomfortable by the second!

“Listen, I didn’t come here to talk about us. I came here for—”

“Inoue, yeah. I know. I’ll go to the stupid party if it’s so important.”

Although it hasn’t been easy by any stretch of the imagination, Uryuu figured it would be harder to get him to agree. He eyes Kurosaki almost suspiciously and asks, “Just like that?”

“She’s _my_ friend, too, in case you forgot. If she really wants me to tag along, I will.”

“Thank you.” Uryuu sighs in relief, stands up, and turns to leave. “I’ll text you the address so you can meet us there.”

“One more thing.”

A hand closes around his wrist. Unprepared for the uptick in reiryoku bombarding his defenses, he stiffens and tries to pull free but he’s held firm. The culprit is standing too close when he rotates to check. “Kuros—”

“Even if you tell me you won’t change your mind,” he begins, a fierce set to his features, “I’m still gonna try. Fair warning, Ishida.”

Matching Kurosaki’s direct gaze, he carefully replies, “Go ahead and waste your time but it will never happen.”

A smile spreads as the challenge is officially accepted. “We’ll see.”


	4. Chapter 4

Uryuu can hear the music from half a block away. There are parked cars lining the street on both sides as far as he can see and he’s beginning to suspect Orihime-chan may have misrepresented the scope of this party a tad. He was expecting something much smaller scale but it’s too late to go home now. Not that he would mind the walk—Uryuu is no stranger to leisurely strolls around town after dark—but he knows she wouldn’t appreciate being left alone with Kurosaki in this kind of situation. Shame, since it could potentially result in them hooking up at the end of the night. Although he has decidedly mixed feelings about that prospect, he has no right to begrudge Orihime-chan’s greatest wish coming true.

Pausing on the sidewalk at the buzz of his cell, he reads the incoming message and learns that she is already inside with Arisawa-san. Turns out she was able to join her roommate for the event after all. In that case, maybe Uryuu can still slip away. He is sure Arisawa-san will make a better go at this wingman business anyway, assuming she isn’t secretly lusting after Kurosaki, too. It wouldn’t exactly shock him to hear yet another person has a major crush on that sexy idiot.

Just as Uryuu decides to turn and head back the way he came, a familiar voice catches his attention. He spots Kurosaki arguing with someone on a lawn two houses over but he can’t make out the words being shouted back and forth. With a weary sigh, Uryuu strides over to intervene.

“I already told you,” yells a burly man in a black suit, “I can’t let you in looking like that!”

At a glance, there doesn’t seem to be anything unusual about Kurosaki’s appearance. He’s wearing his favored fall attire: trendy jeans and an open, brightly colored long-sleeve shirt over a black tank top plus punk accessories. Even his irritated expression is classic him.

“And I told you I don’t give a shit about your stupid theme! I’ve got friends waiting for me, so—”

“Stop screeching, Kurosaki, it isn’t going to help.”

He swivels around to confirm Uryuu’s arrival and cries, “Ishida! Tell this guy to let me inside before I _make_ _him_.”

“The nerd can’t come in, either,” declares the party’s official bouncer, evidently. “Not without a costume.”

“You son of a—”

“Costume?” Orihime-chan didn’t mention anything about costumes but knowing her, she probably thought it went without saying. Uryuu diplomatically tries, “You can’t make an exception?”

“For you, maybe. For him, hell no.”

Kurosaki growls and Uryuu drags him away by his sleeve. “Give it a rest. It’s your own fault for antagonizing him.”

“That bastard had it out for me from the start,” he grouchily insists. “The girl who went in ahead of me was just wearing a pair of cat ears! How does that count?”

About to walk past a couple dressed as Inuyasha and Kagome making their way toward the Halloween bash, he immediately drops his hold on Kurosaki’s sleeve before they get the wrong idea. He halts near a streetlamp to continue the debate in relative privacy.

“It counts because she’s female.”

“What difference does that make?”

Shaking his head, Uryuu says, “Never mind. More importantly, how are we supposed to find costumes at this time of night?”

“Why bother? Inoue said Tatsuki’s with her, so I doubt she’ll be heartbroken if we can’t make it.”

As always, Kurosaki misses the bigger picture while somehow coming alarmingly close to stumbling upon the truth of the matter. Orihime-chan _would_ be heartbroken if they flaked and Uryuu isn’t about to let that happen. He starts to proclaim as much when a trio of young women shyly approaches them. Their faces are painted to resemble Mexican sugar skulls, accessorized with faux roses in their hair. Between the three of them, there is enough tulle and dark lace for five times as many dresses—not exactly the stylistic choice he would have gone with.

One of them clacks forward on rhinestoned stilettos and asks, “Excuse us, but did you just say you need costumes?”

“Yeah,” answers Kurosaki. “Any ideas?”

She smiles brightly and digs through her purse to hand him several small tubes of the same paint decorating their features. “Here you go!”

“Uh, thanks.”

“No problem.” Glancing coyly askance, she suggests, “You can repay the favor with a dance later, if you want.”

He doesn’t respond but the girls don’t notice. They’re too busy giggling and sauntering off toward the source of booming bass. Uryuu resists the urge to glare at their backs and snatches the paint from his lax grip instead.

“Let’s make this quick,” he tells Kurosaki as he plucks off a cap. “Come closer to the light so I can see what I’m doing.”

“You’re gonna paint mine for me?”

“Of course. If you scribble on yourself like a kindergartner with a marker, the bouncer will never let us in. Now, close your eyes and hold still.”

Surprisingly, he follows instructions without a fight. Uryuu doesn’t consider himself an artist but he’d be lying if he claimed a total lack of artistic ability. Soon, the sugar skull pattern he envisioned in his mind’s eye is drawn in bold colors offset by stark black and white. The cap clicks in place as he takes a step back to appraise his work. Kurosaki goes to the nearest car and checks his reflection in the window. He smiles.

“Not bad, Ishida. Who knew you had a knack for face-painting?”

He shrugs and hands the tubes back before taking off his glasses. “Your turn. Just…try not to make me look like a clown, all right?”

“Sure thing.”

It’s not the mischief in his tone that has Uryuu tensing on his approach. It’s the fact that he has to shut his eyes and let Kurosaki get very close in order to do this. Lowering his guard even that much is terrifying in light of recent events. Uryuu’s fear is confirmed when his hair is brushed back and tucked behind an ear. The sensation of warm fingertips and fiery reiryoku on one of his erogenous zones is electrifying. He jerks away from it and glares at Kurosaki for something he didn’t even mean to do.

“If my hair is in the way, just say so,” Uryuu grumbles as he swipes it back on his own.

His baffled expression transitions to agitated. “Why do you freak out every time I touch you?”

“I do not ‘freak out.’”

“Yes, you do. You act like I’m burning you or…”

An alarm rings to see Kurosaki’s eyes narrow shrewdly in thought. Before he can reach a dangerous conclusion, Uryuu distracts, “Will you hurry up and paint or should I do it myself? Orihime-chan is still waiting for us, remember?”

Kurosaki scowls in annoyance but allows the subject change. He lifts a paint-covered finger and Uryuu closes his eyes.

All he can think about while he’s being painted is how much he wishes Kurosaki would kiss him. Little sparks of reiryoku are transferred from the fingertips tracing across Uryuu’s skin; it’s making him crave more. He can feel Kurosaki’s warmth radiating outward in the scant space between them; it’s making his blood heat. Uryuu takes a steadying breath and exhales shakily because Kurosaki smells good, too; it’s making him lightheaded. The low, soft sound of his voice as he assures he’s almost finished sends a shiver down the back of Uryuu’s neck; it’s making his heart race. Kurosaki’s thumb brushes the edge of his mouth in the process of swirling some design on his chin and Uryuu’s tongue automatically darts out to lick the hint of salt from his lips; it’s making him hungry for another taste.

Kurosaki kisses him. Uryuu gasps from the spike of pleasure and pushes him back, opening his eyes as he warns, “Don’t.”

“You wanted me to,” challenges Kurosaki.

Uryuu won’t deny it but he firmly repeats, “Don’t.”

Frowning, he turns away and mutters, “Fine.”

Without announcing his intention, he starts toward the house party and Kurosaki wordlessly follows. The bouncer takes one look at them, rolls his eyes, and gestures for them to step through.

The music is much louder inside. Contrastingly, the rooms are dimmer than outside. Orange string lights and blacklight lamps provide the only illumination in the crowded space. There are people everywhere: dancing, mingling, chatting, drinking, laughing, shouting. For someone who appreciates quiet, low-key social situations this type of scene is a bit overwhelming. Uryuu already wants to leave and apparently, it shows. Kurosaki leans in to ask if he’s okay. That’s when he realizes their face paint is glow-in-the-dark. The vivid accents of his sugar skull are extremely eye-catching in the violet-tinged ambiance.

Suddenly curious, Uryuu searches for a reflective surface and settles for the glass of a mounted photograph. It’s too dark to see clearly but he can tell Kurosaki put in effort to do a decent job. Discerning a few Quincy-related symbols in the design, Uryuu can’t help smiling in approval. The cross in the center of his forehead is a nice touch but he’s not so sure about the arrow on his right cheek. It appears to be spearing either an apple…or a heart. Please, _please_ let it be an apple. He really isn’t comfortable with the idea of Kurosaki choosing to paint hearts with arrows shot through them like some sort of cheesy Valentine’s Day decal.

“Uryuu-kun! Kurosaki-kun!”

They find Orihime-chan’s form easily from across the room because she is dressed as a T-rex, complete with toothy mask and spiky tail. Her jovial face peeks out from parted jaws that wag as she scampers over to join them. Arisawa-san is right behind her, audaciously outfitted as a lady pirate. The antiquated garb suits her but it’s not something Uryuu would have expected her to pick, considering the corset fails to cover her cleavage completely. He isn’t the only one who thinks so, if Kurosaki’s next comment is any indication.

“Whoa, that costume…Tatsuki, did you lose a bet?”

“Shut it, Ichigo,” she retorts without anger. “What took you guys so long?”

“Kurosaki had an altercation with the doorman.”

“Ishida wouldn’t let me beat the guy up so we had to waste time doing this,” he adds with a gesture to his face. “Looks pretty cool, though, right?”

“It does!” cheers Orihime-chan. Her grin dims as she apologizes, “Sorry I forgot to tell you about the costume requirement.”

“Don’t worry about that,” says Uryuu in a forgiving tone. “We improvised.”

Her smile returns, inspiring his in kind. Kurosaki glances between them but doesn’t add anything to the exchange. Uryuu hopes he’s remorsefully reflecting on the fact that he wanted to bail out on the party because of the costume requirement Orihime-chan forgot to mention. Never mind that Uryuu had a similar notion before he even made it to the front door…

“I was just about to grab a drink,” Arisawa-san announces. “You guys want anything?”

“I’m good,” declines Kurosaki.

Uryuu shakes his head and tells her, “I won’t be drinking tonight.”

With a half-shrug, she mutters, “Suit yourselves,” and disappears into the gyrating throngs surrounding them.

The three of them loiter awkwardly in her absence. Kurosaki already looks bored, Orihime-chan is fidgeting with the tan felt of her costume, and Uryuu is trying to think of a reason to leave the two of them alone without being too obvious about it. There may never be a better chance to push the pair together than tonight. It’s a shame Kurosaki isn’t inclined to imbibe any of the alcohol in the place. Everyone knows it lowers inhibitions and makes people more likely to act on their subconscious desires. Uryuu calculates what volume of liquor it might take to make Kurosaki act on his subconscious desire for Orihime-chan. He doesn’t like the number he comes up with.

The minutes pass painfully until Arisawa-san gets back. Orihime-chan sips from the bottle she is handed and half of her head is engulfed in the T-rex’s gaping jaws every time she tips it back. Uryuu should’ve helped her pick a more attractive costume. Maybe then Kurosaki would be staring at her instead of idly glancing around the room.

“I think there are Halloween games upstairs,” Orihime-chan suddenly shares, “and it’s quieter.”

“Let’s go,” says Kurosaki, leading the way toward the stairwell. He glances back at Uryuu after a few paces to make sure he’s actually following. As if he needs any incentive to move _away_ from loud music and shimmying students.

They file upstairs and go exploring. Unsurprisingly, there aren’t many people on the second or third floors playing games. Mostly, they’re making out in cozy nooks or going at it behind closed doors. Every time they pass a locked bedroom, all of them pretend not to notice the sex noises of perfect strangers drifting through the walls. It’s that kind of party, all right!

Eventually, they find a room toward the very back of the building without horny teenagers occupying it. Instead, the space is set up as a haunted house meets hangout area with chairs, sofas, and a bed in the corner put to use as storage for stacks of dusty board games that haven’t been touched all night.

“This must be the nerd corner,” Arisawa-san comments as she glances over the array of Halloween decorations making the simple room resemble a set from an even more Gothic version of _Dracula_.

“Then we’re in the right place!” cheers Orihime-chan.

Uryuu smiles at her enthusiasm, but it fades when he notices Kurosaki staring at him with an unhappy tilt to his mouth. What’s his problem _now_?

He flicks a tattered sheet-ghost hanging from the ceiling out of his face and notes, “Someone did a great job on the décor. I wonder why no one else is up here.”

“‘Cause it’s creepy as hell,” speculates Kurosaki with a pointed glance at a nearby grimacing oni mask. “Although it’s kinda hard to be afraid of fake spirits and monsters when we’ve seen so many real ones already.”

“And worse,” Uryuu adds.

“That’s for sure.” Kurosaki pauses for a moment, then asks, “What are you afraid of?”

“I’ve had nightmares about losing my powers again,” he answers honestly, not seeing any reason to lie.

“Me, too.” His gaze locks with Uryuu’s as he says, “More than losing my ability to protect the people I care about, I’m terrified I’ll hurt them…again.”

He forces himself to look away from Kurosaki’s pitiful expression. They’ve never really talked about what happened in Hueco Mundo. The one time he tried to apologize for attacking Uryuu in Hollow form, it turned into a fight and ended with them avoiding each other for about a week. If Kurosaki tries a second time, it’s guaranteed to end the same way now.

Arisawa-san scoffs at their depressing dialogue and Orihime-chan just remains silent. Uryuu can tell this ‘nerd corner’ won’t be conducive to getting Kurosaki closer to her. The atmosphere is too intimate yet platonic, due to limited company. There’s no plausible way he can get them to stay up here while he and Arisawa-san head downstairs, either.

“We should go back and dance…or something,” Uryuu suggests to the discomfited group. “What good is going to a party if we only interact with each other?”

“That’s true,” agrees Orihime-chan with a thoughtful expression. “Tatsuki-chan got all dressed up to meet a nice boy and everything.”

“‘Hime!” she cries in protest.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t know it was a secret…”

Kurosaki chuckles and tells his oldest friend, “It’s cool. I’ll be your wingman if you want.”

Rolling her eyes, Arisawa-san turns to lead the way back to the ground floor.

It’s like the lights, music, and motion compose a beast greedily devouring them. Uryuu feels the disorienting churn of its innards as he narrowly avoids getting knocked over by a trio of girls whirling past. They’re the ones who lent their face paints outside. The same girl who spoke up then approaches Kurosaki directly.

“Will you dance with us?” she appeals, batting jeweled eyelashes at him.

“Uh, thanks, but I—”

“Please?” the forward girl presses, echoed by her two friends. “Just one dance?”

Uryuu pokes at his glasses and the movement must draw attention because Kurosaki looks over at him with indecision etched into his features. Since when is he the Shinigami’s chaperone?

“Why don’t we all go?” Uryuu negotiates, thinking it’s the perfect opportunity to at least get both him and Orihime-chan on the dance floor together. The group of them give vague hums and gestures of assent.

All of them shuffle toward the nearest gyrating college kids to join the fray. What quickly becomes obvious, however, is that the sugar skull triad have their own designs on Kurosaki because they surround him immediately. He doesn’t seem to know how to react when three hyper young women start shimmying around him, since he pretty much just stands in place looking awkward.

Uryuu wants to laugh. He also wants to break out Ginrei Kojaku and shoot a few hussies.

In the end, he does neither. He takes Orihime-chan’s hand and guides her up the gradient of dancers to a denser section so Uryuu doesn’t have to watch the train wreck in progress with Kurosaki smack in the middle. Although he almost feels bad for leaving Arisawa-san to fend for herself, he reasons that she won’t meet any ‘nice boys’ as long as she’s surrounded by friends anyway.

“Do you think Kurosaki-kun will be all right?” asks Orihime-chan as they start to bop along to the beat like the chronic dorks they are. “He looks a little uncomfortable.”

“He deserves it,” Uryuu mutters, knowing she won’t hear him over the music. Sure enough, she shakes her head and leans closer. He raises his voice to reassure, “Kurosaki is a big boy; he can take care of himself.”

Orihime-chan doesn’t appear convinced but she drops the subject in favor of enjoying herself a bit. They make it through one song and miraculously begin to unwind. Their jerky flailing transitions to smoother maneuvers as they adjust to the bass line and get used to how silly they feel. Even Uryuu is having fun with it by the end of the second song. Especially when Orihime-chan shuts her eyes and starts hopping energetically in place like most of the people around them. Her T-rex jaws chomp at her head and occasionally at Uryuu’s face when she tips forward a tad too far.

At one point, a triangular tooth gets snagged on his glasses and knocks them to the floor.

“Oh, no!” she gasps and dives down before they can get kicked or crushed. “I’m so sorry, Uryuu-kun!”

“It’s all right,” he tells her as she stands and carefully places his glasses into his palm before curling his fingers around the frames like he’s totally blind rather than slightly near-sighted. Uryuu laughs and says, “Don’t worry, Orihime-chan, I can see okay without them.”

He can see the way she smiles in relief to hear it. He can also see how Kurosaki and his new lady friends have migrated closer to them. He can see one of Kurosaki’s hands on a girl’s waist, the other on another girl’s shoulder.

Now all Uryuu can see is red. Lots and lots of red.

Their eyes meet. He can’t see Kurosaki’s expression clearly but it doesn’t matter. Uryuu apologizes and excuses himself as Orihime-chan’s dance partner to flee the scene before any of the emotion simmering inside him boils out where everyone can see.

He goes upstairs, to the third floor and the nerd corner in the very back because it’s the only spot in the entire god damned house that isn’t milling with tipsy students. Pacing around the quiet room, Uryuu clenches his fists and tries to talk himself down. He’s only upset over the fact that Kurosaki is supposed to be dancing with Orihime-chan, not those heavily accessorized women. It has nothing to do with Uryuu’s feelings for Kurosaki, just his sympathy for Orihime-chan’s feelings.

So, why is his heart squeezing in his chest? Why are his breaths shallow and uneven? Why does it feel like taking a zanpakutou to the gut all over again?

The door he closed behind him is yanked open and he turns in time to watch Kurosaki enter, then slam it shut once more. Uryuu inhales to scream at the fool to go back but the way Kurosaki marches over and grips both of his upper arms to glare at close-range shocks him stupefied. What he says next only makes it worse.

“Don’t you ever make that face at me again, Ishida.”

“W-what face?”

Instead of answering that valid question, Kurosaki fervently vows, “I was trying to ditch those chicks the whole time but they just kept clinging on to me even when I tried to push them away. You’re the only one I want, idiot, so quit looking at me like that.”

“Like _what_?” Uryuu exasperatedly demands, resolutely ignoring the first part of that sentence.

“Like I just broke your heart!” His grip cinches urgently but his glare softens into a yearning stare. “Don’t you get how much it kills me to see you in pain?”

Kurosaki’s reiryoku is burning across his skin—or maybe it’s shame. Uryuu doesn’t want to acknowledge how the thought of him with anyone else aches like a physical wound but he knows it’s the truth. It’s not all right, but it’s the truth.

“Fine, I get it,” he snaps, struggling against Kurosaki’s hold. “Let go of me.”

He lets go of Uryuu’s arms, but only so he can embrace him instead. His voice is low and desperate as he decides, “I’m not letting go until you say you believe me.”

Tightening the hug further when he fights, Kurosaki makes it clear he’s serious. The sharp edges of Uryuu’s glasses are digging into his palm, the metal threatening to give under his straining grasp. Since he can’t put them on, he fumbles them into a pocket for the time being and chooses to focus on dealing with Kurosaki first.

“Believe you about what?”

“That you’re who I want to be with,” he says as his fingers splay out against Uryuu’s back.

He can feel Kurosaki’s heart beating against his chest, swift but steady. He can feel Kurosaki’s warmth and reiryoku soaking into his skin, making it impossible to stay tense. He can feel the tide of Kurosaki’s breath on his throat, teasing with a kiss that won’t come.

“I…” Uryuu begins, faltering on yet another spike of taboo emotion. “I believe you but I don’t want—”

“Bullshit,” he adamantly dismisses. “Stop being so stubborn for five freaking seconds and just tell me how you really feel!”

How he really feels? He really wishes Kurosaki would let him go—let _this_ go—because every time they talk or touch makes it that much harder to keep pushing him away. Uryuu craves him like he’s starving for it, and maybe he is. Maybe he’s been so fixated on Kurosaki all these years that he can’t even envision a world where he isn’t drooling over the sexy idiot. Maybe he’s been lusting after Kurosaki for so long that it isn’t just lust anymore. Maybe he’s actually in—

“Uryuu-kun?” calls Orihime-chan’s timid voice from the hall. “Kurosaki-kun? Are you two okay?”

Panic, hot and visceral, has Uryuu shoving him off and going to the door before Kurosaki can think to catch him.

“We’re okay, Orihime-chan,” he says once he opens the door. “Kurosaki is just having a minor crisis, but we’re handling it.”

Uryuu hears an indignant noise from behind him but Kurosaki doesn’t speak up to correct the half-truth.

  
“Are you sure?” Assessing their agitated demeanor, she compassionately asks, “Were you fighting again?”

“It’s nothing to be concerned about,” Uryuu softly assures. At the same time, he inwardly swears not to give her a reason to be concerned, regardless of how difficult that may be for him. “Go and have fun with Arisawa-san. We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Orihime-chan still doesn’t seem completely satisfied with that answer but she nods and turns to go back downstairs.

Closing the door and locking it for good measure, Uryuu hesitates to face the wrath he knows is aimed at him. Kurosaki takes his evasiveness as a challenge and tugs him around to force a confrontation.

“I’m having a fucking ‘crisis’, Ishida? Is that seriously what you think?”

“What was I supposed to tell her? That she interrupted a not-quite-lovers’ spat?” Uryuu jerks his captive elbow free but leans in to snarl, “She can’t know about any of this! Do you understand me?”

“It’s her…” Kurosaki breathes in awe of an epiphany. “Inoue is the reason you’re holding back, isn’t she? Are you in love with her?”

He takes a breath to say _of course not_ but halts before the first syllable begins. The misunderstanding could actually work in Uryuu’s favor. If Kurosaki thinks he’s in love with Orihime-chan, he’ll surely give up on Uryuu. Plus, if it’s done right he could even goad Kurosaki into ‘competing’ for her affection. Then by the time he figures out Uryuu isn’t interested in her, Kurosaki will be.

Uryuu is too preoccupied with his latest match-making scheme to notice Kurosaki’s reaction at first. The moment Uryuu does, all of his nascent plans come crashing down because he has never seen such a devastated look on Kurosaki’s face. It’s poignant enough to strike him right at his core, evoking a pang of empathy so potent it makes his eyes sting.

“No,” he finds himself reflexively admitting against better judgment. “I’m not in love with her, Kurosaki.”

“If you’re just saying that—”

“Orihime-chan is my best friend and I want her to be happy,” _even if I have to suffer for it_ , he silently finishes. “That’s all.”

The naked vulnerability in his eyes has Uryuu reaching for him instinctively. Kurosaki sighs as a hand tentatively curls around his. Uryuu knows this is dangerous but he can’t bear to see the sorrow in Kurosaki’s eyes any more than he could bear it in Orihime-chan’s.

Turns out, he made a fatal mistake with that single gesture.

“I love you, Ishida.” He is too paralyzed to even try refusing Kurosaki’s second embrace. He stares blankly over a shoulder as gentle fingertips card through his hair. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.”

“Kurosaki,” he chokes out somehow. His body has begun to tremble almost as bad as his voice because Uryuu can’t keep the secret anymore. He isn’t strong enough. “Orihime-chan is in love with you. She always has been, so w-we can’t…”

Loosening the hold just enough to find his gaze, Kurosaki shows him a confused look and says, “I know how Inoue feels about me. She confessed last year but I told her I already had feelings for you. It didn’t seem like a huge surprise for her or anything. She even offered to help set us up.” Recognizing Uryuu’s undiluted astonishment, he asks, “Has _that_ been the problem this whole time?”

He can’t confirm it, can’t even nod since he’s too busy drowning in unpleasant revelations. Orihime-chan never told him she confessed and got rejected. She never told him it was Uryuu’s fault. She never treated him the least bit differently for it, either, because the woman is an angel walking the earth. All those invitations, all the times she begged him to accompany her to hang out with Kurosaki were her attempts at getting them together? Was this party her latest attempt?

Suddenly, Uryuu can’t breathe. He grabs on to the back of Kurosaki’s shirt for fear of collapsing from lightheadedness. He feels incredibly stupid and oblivious and a tiny bit betrayed. More than that, he feels _relieved_. So much so that he lets his body go pliant in Kurosaki’s arms, dropping his head to rest on the man’s shoulder while he struggles to slow his laboring heart. The guilt he built around it like a wall to contain all the emotions he shouldn’t have starts to crumble, releasing everything in an overwhelming torrent that washes away all his noble resolve.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against the warm cotton of Kurosaki’s shirt. He doesn’t know who he’s apologizing to—Orihime-chan, Kurosaki, or himself—he just needs to express the remorse rising to suffocate him any way he can.

“Ishida, it’s okay,” comforts Kurosaki, rubbing his back. “I’m sorry I yelled at you when you were trying so hard to be a good friend. I didn’t know.” His hands still on Uryuu as he adds in a hushed tone, “I didn’t know anything. I was just scared to hear you say you don’t want me.”

There is a hidden request in Kurosaki’s statement that he can’t ignore. He lifts his head and forces himself to bravely declare, “I do.”

Uryuu kisses him shyly, feeling like he doesn’t deserve to take that step after everything he has put them through, but Kurosaki welcomes it. That’s putting it mildly, given how quickly he upgrades their kiss from tender to passionate. He supports the back of Uryuu’s head and kisses him like he’s barely restraining himself from attacking outright. It sends all kinds of giddy shivers down his spine, comparing Kurosaki’s earnest words with his ardent actions and finding them equal.

“ _Uryuu_ ,” he whispers against parted lips before slipping his tongue between them.

He has no defense against Kurosaki—his husky voice, his heated touch, his bold kiss. It’s all Uryuu can do to stay lucid with Kurosaki’s reiryoku spilling over and soaking into him.

The taste of chalky paint reminds him of where they are in conjunction with what they are about to do.

“W-wait,” Uryuu withdraws to reluctantly request. “Not here.” At Kurosaki’s disappointed look, he explains, “I don’t want us to be one of those cliché couples who hook up at a party.”

A shy smile breaks out as he agrees, “It is sorta weird making out with a sugar skull version of you.”

“Do you know if Sado-kun is at your apartment right now?” Uryuu glances aside awkwardly as he says, “I’m pretty sure Ryuuken will be home for a change.”

Kurosaki has his phone out and is sending a text before Uryuu even finishes his sentence. “Chad won’t be home by the time we get there. Come on.”

He lets Kurosaki take his hand and lead them back downstairs, but he protests, “I didn’t mean for you to kick him out of his own apartment!”

Flashing a grin over his shoulder, he tells Uryuu, “Trust me, he won’t mind.”

He thinks about Sado-kun’s tendency to be busy whenever Uryuu visits and wonders if he’s been doing his part to give them ‘alone time’ for Kurosaki’s sake, just like Orihime-chan.

Once they reach the ground floor, Uryuu says, “I’ll meet you outside; I just need a minute.”

“Sure,” he allows, though it takes him a second to let go of his hand.

He knows Kurosaki understands his intention when he glances toward Orihime-chan and Arisawa-san’s silhouettes over by the kitchen. Uryuu watches him head for the front door before going to meet them.

Without explanation, he draws his best friend into a light hug.

“I’m sorry,” he sincerely tells Orihime-chan. She returns the gesture after he adds, “Thank you.”

She doesn’t say anything when they separate. She doesn’t need to because her kind smile says it all.

Kurosaki is leaning against the same lamp post where they painted each other’s faces when he walks outside to meet him. He straightens and falls into step beside Uryuu, traveling toward their destination without preamble.

The short walk across town gives him time to process everything with a relatively cool head. He thinks about their friendship, their history, and what he wants for their future. Kurosaki seems certain of what he wants, which is a romantic relationship. Although Uryuu has never really let himself ponder what such an arrangement might be like, it doesn’t take much imagination to figure he wouldn’t hate it. Particularly the physical aspect of it.

Yet, he knows that’s not all he wants from Kurosaki. Truthfully, he has known from the start and just couldn’t accept it until now. What it comes down to is Uryuu doesn’t trust and respect and admire anyone more than Kurosaki. The very foundation of his character is a combination of attributes Uryuu not only seeks in the people around him, but also in himself. Kurosaki makes him want to be a better person, and who doesn’t need someone like that in their life?

By the time they make it to his apartment, Uryuu has firmly made up his mind.

“You can use my bathroom to wash off the paint,” Kurosaki offers as they step out of their shoes by the door. “I’ll borrow Chad’s.”

“Actually…do you mind if I take a quick shower?”

The dumbfounded look on his face is priceless. “Uh, yeah—I mean, no, I don’t mind. Go ahead.”

Did he think Uryuu asked to come over just so they could chat?

Failing to suppress an amused smirk, he veers left to find the bathroom and closes himself inside. The fact that Kurosaki apparently isn’t taking it for granted that he will score tonight is notably endearing. Uryuu is still smiling about it partway into his shower. He takes extra care to wash off all the paint, thinking it’s a bit of a shame since they were only at the party less than an hour before leaving. He’s pretty sure Arisawa-san took a photo or two of them, though, so it’s not a total loss.

Then Uryuu is smiling again as he makes a mental reminder to ask for a copy later, to commemorate the night Kurosaki said he loved him.

Uryuu gets out of the shower and starts to dry off as he stares at his reflection in the mirror. He is a little nervous. Even though he has fantasized about Kurosaki, he has never done anything like this before. Besides, Uryuu is still getting used to the idea that Kurosaki is attracted to him, too. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it.

Realizing that he’s psyching himself out, he shakes his head to clear unhelpful thoughts and debates whether or not he’s courageous enough to come out in only a towel. Uryuu shakes his head again as he decides he really isn’t and hastily gets dressed.

Kurosaki is sitting on his bed when Uryuu emerges. Surprisingly, he’s not messing with his phone out of boredom, but picking at a loose thread on his blanket like he might be a bit nervous, as well. Wouldn’t that be something?

He glances up to watch Uryuu approach, swallowing visibly before breaking into a relieved grin. “For a minute, I worried you might walk out in just a towel. My head would’ve spontaneously imploded, brains splattering everywhere…it’d be a real mess.”

Chuckling at the colorful imagery, he sits beside Kurosaki and admits, “Thought about it. Too self-conscious.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he says, making direct eye contact. “You’re gorgeous, Uryuu.”

He stares at the hands clasped in his lap and fights a blush he feels rising from the compliment. “Well, y-you are just ridiculously sexy. It’s almost cruel, Kur—” He cuts himself off and looks up to amend, “Ichigo.”

Kurosaki makes a low noise in his throat and leans in to connect their mouths. Gasping because he didn’t brace for the usual rush of reiryoku in addition to the dense atmosphere of it around them, Uryuu is both grateful and disappointed when the kiss is broken in favor of an important question.

“It’s my reiryoku, isn’t it?” asks Kurosaki in the tone of a statement. He isn’t surprised to see Uryuu nod. “Is it that uncomfortable?”

“No, actually, it feels amazing,” he reluctantly divulges. “It’s just…kind of intense.”

That does surprise him. Kurosaki considers him for a moment, then says, “I wanna try something. Stop me if it bothers you, okay?”

A slight nod is all Uryuu manages but it’s enough. Kurosaki touches delicate fingertips to the back of his hand, watching his expression carefully for signs of discomfort. When he finds none, he deliberately increases the flow of reiryoku and turns Uryuu’s hand over to trace the lines of his palm. It registers as a series of sparks that crackle excitedly up his arm. Kurosaki sees it in the way he breathes a little harder and bites his lip.

“Keep going,” Uryuu encourages in case he was planning to do the opposite.

Kurosaki moves up the underside of his arm until he gets to the sensitive inside of an elbow. He rubs circles there with his thumb, funneling slightly more of his massively powerful spirit through the contact. Uryuu sighs and lets his eyes slip shut. Easing into it like this is much better than getting shocked with the full-force from the first touch. He wants to tell Kurosaki but he forgets the words when those fingers burrow under his shirt to curve around his side, slowly sliding upward.

“You love it,” he says in a voice gone rough with desire, “don’t you?” He laughs breathlessly and tells Uryuu, “You look totally blissed-out right now.”

“Yes,” is all he can say in response. It’s a challenge to keep his eyes open so he can see Kurosaki’s reaction when he quietly claims, “I love you more.”

Brown eyes flare as his hand halts. Then he pushes Uryuu down and climbs on top of him, kissing him wildly like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do since the day they met.

Kurosaki’s hand keeps exploring, only pausing in playing with a nipple until he squirms from the strong sensation. Tugging suggestively at his overshirt, Uryuu hums happily when he obligingly shrugs out of it. Kurosaki briefly breaks the kiss to pull off his tank top while he’s at it and eyes the zipper of Uryuu’s shirt with a question in his expression. Another nod grants permission. Kurosaki doesn’t hesitate to tug it down and strip the fabric from his torso.

“I love your scar,” he says and dips down to kiss each of the five points in turn. “What it represents. How damned determined you are to own your heritage. You’ve always known exactly who you want to be.”

Uryuu had no clue the confidence he has in his identity could be perceived as attractive. Wasn’t pride something people normally didn’t appreciate in a partner? Then again, he’s thought the same thing about Kurosaki’s scars numerous times.

When it becomes clear where those light kisses are leading, he calls, “Ichigo,” and shudders from the vibrations of a moan against his navel. “If you go anywhere near my dick right now, I’m going to…” Uryuu trails off to see him pause and glance up in concern.

“I thought you wanted to—But we don’t have to do anything tonight!” Kurosaki nervously assures him. “It’s completely cool with me if you just wanna hang out.”

Shaking his head, Uryuu props up on his elbows and says, “No, I want to, but not like that. I want…” He blushes as he steels himself to ask, “Can we have sex?”

Kurosaki blushes in turn, mouth parting in shock to hear him say it directly. “Uh, yeah. Yep, that’s definitely an option. Well, I mean I have, um…lube, or whatever, but not condoms.”

“Have you been with anyone else?”

“No. Have you?”

“No,” Uryuu says with a small smile that Kurosaki mirrors. “Just lube should be fine, then.”

“Right. Okay. Hang on a sec.” He goes to his dresser and digs around in a drawer for a handful of seconds, returning with a moderate-sized bottle. “Do you want to…Or do you want me to? I’m good with either.”

His small smile widens. “You’d let me?” Kurosaki nods without a hint of reluctance. “That’s nice to know. For future reference.” Again, Uryuu summons all his audacity to confess, “I’ve always wondered how your reiryoku would feel…if part of you was inside me.”

Kurosaki makes a strange sound and his eyelids lower a fraction. “That’s way too erotic, Uryuu. If you keep saying stuff like that with such a cute look on your face, I’m not gonna last one minute inside you.”

He can’t bring himself to be annoyed about being called ‘cute’ when Kurosaki is staring at him, eyes dark and intense. Uryuu never dreamed he could be the recipient of that stare from the one person he has always wanted most.

Pulling Kurosaki to hover above him, Uryuu kisses him in a way that he hopes communicates the depth of his desire. Maybe he manages it, because Kurosaki moans and touches the side of his jaw in a wordless request for more. Uryuu doesn’t turn away. He lets Kurosaki kiss him until he’s so wound up he breaks it himself, reaching down to hurriedly undo Uryuu’s pants and push them off. He lifts his hips to help, then reaches for Kurosaki’s fly in return.

“Ichigo,” he sighs when their nearly naked bodies meet. Uryuu winds his arms around Kurosaki to hold him close as he starts to slowly swirl his hips.

He goes back to kissing Uryuu, only briefly, because he knows both of them are beyond the point of foreplay. There’s no way Kurosaki can’t feel how hard Uryuu is, hear how heavily he is breathing. Maybe Kurosaki can even feel the faint tremble in Uryuu’s hands where he presses them to his back.

This amount of skin contact shared between them is causing Kurosaki’s reiryoku to flood into and saturate him fully. Uryuu is floating in its currents and eddies like a warm river. Yet, he doesn’t feel overwhelmed. He opens his eyes and notices a look of concentration on Kurosaki’s face, as if he is doing his very best to keep his power in check for Uryuu’s sake.

He calls Kurosaki’s name again to get his attention, and suggestively slips the bottle of lube into his grasp.

“It’s okay if I do it for you?”

Uryuu nods and affectionately murmurs, “I know you won’t hurt me.”

Smiling until his eyes crinkle at the corners, Kurosaki seems extremely pleased by his confidence. He moves lower, gently sliding down Uryuu’s underwear. He takes a second to stare there, too, and licks his lips like he wants to taste.

“I never thought I’d get to see you like this,” Kurosaki says in the tone of a prayer. “I’ve loved you for years, Uryuu.”

To hear such raw yearning in Kurosaki’s voice makes him want to apologize again. Uryuu knows he doesn’t need to, but he hates how it took him until today to accept that his feelings for Kurosaki were always deeper than he wanted to believe.

“Me, too,” he says quietly, inspiring another of those elated smiles. “Sorry it took me forever to fess up.”

“Sorry I wasn’t brave enough to kiss you sooner.”

Uryuu laughs lightly, thinking back to that rainy afternoon in his sitting room. He felt so conflicted, so ashamed for enjoying the kiss as much as he did. All of that is gone now. Some part of him will always be sad for Orihime-chan, but he can’t feel too bad about it knowing Kurosaki chose him first. Kurosaki _waited_ for him all this time with nothing but the hope that, maybe one day, Uryuu would reciprocate his feelings.

He gasps to feel a slick finger working its way inside of him. Drawing Kurosaki down for a kiss, he says, “Don’t stop. It already feels amazing.”

Uryuu isn’t lying. Just the touch of Kurosaki’s fingertip to such a sensitive place is like an electric zap where his reiryoku crosses the barriers from one body to the other. Uryuu moans when Kurosaki’s tongue touches his at the same time that he pushes a second finger in after the first. Gripping strong shoulders for stability, Uryuu spreads his knees wider and brings them up to bracket Kurosaki’s waist. He wants more. More of Kurosaki pressing against and pushing inside him. More of that hot, tingly power vibrating beneath his skin. More movement, more breath rushing and blood surging and sweat beading.

Kurosaki breaks the kiss with a sharp curse. “Your reiryoku… _Shit_ , it’s like a dam just burst,” he says in a strained voice. “Is this what it feels like when I touch you?”

“Is it good?”

“Yeah,” he answers breathlessly, “very, very good.”

Uryuu smirks. “Then yes.”

He forgets it can get better until Kurosaki reminds him how. His long fingers find that special spot and Uryuu cries out from the moment they make contact. He shudders, tossing his head aside to pant at the air that fierce pleasure demands. He hears the frantic noises he is making but he doesn’t feel them leaving his throat. All he can feel is Kurosaki’s fingertips circling, his reiryoku sparking, and the most intense sensation washing over him. Uryuu doesn’t even realize he’s coming until he feels the hot splashes on his stomach. A glance down his torso confirms it.

Kurosaki is stunned. His fingers are still tucked deep inside Uryuu but they aren’t circling anymore. It seems his sudden orgasm surprised Kurosaki even more than him.

But he recovers to say, “Fuck, that looked fun. You have _got_ to try that on me sometime.”

Uryuu laughs with what little breath he can spare. “I will. It’s a promise.”

Carefully withdrawing his fingers, Kurosaki asks, “Need a break?”

“Actually,” he replies, glancing at his own erection, “I don’t think so.”

“Damn, Uryuu, you’re a beast.”

Kurosaki’s words are playful, and he argues just as playfully, “This is your fault. This is what happens when you keep pumping reiryoku into me like a human fire hydrant.”

He laughs and jokes, “Does that mean I can go ahead and pump something else into you, too?”

“Wow, Ichigo. Awfully dirty words for a boy-next-door type like you.”

That only makes him laugh harder. “Maybe this is what happens to me when you unleash _your_ reiryoku for a change. You gotta quit being so stingy with it.”

Uryuu leans up to kiss him and seductively say, “I’ll give more if you do.” He parts his thighs wider in emphasis and Kurosaki finally clues in.

Using a bit more lube just in case, he moves into position and slowly guides himself in. Both of them groan from the first few seconds. Kurosaki is still trying to hold the full force of his spirit back, but his concentration is slipping. Uryuu can feel his power fluctuating as he steadily pushes forward, but it isn’t unpleasant. In fact, he knows that if he hadn’t just come a moment ago, he would have the instant Kurosaki makes it all the way in. He pauses there and kisses Uryuu to bring them both back to each other.

“Okay?” Kurosaki asks, breathing just as heavy and erratic as his.

Uryuu nods because it’s all he can manage. Kurosaki still watches his face closely for discomfort as he begins to move. He even glances down to make sure Uryuu’s excitement hasn’t diminished at all. It hasn’t. It _can’t_ because Kurosaki is pulsing inside him in two different ways and it is positively mind-blowing, just like Uryuu imagined it would be.

When he can’t bite it back anymore, he moans and unleashes all of his reiryoku like Kurosaki asked him to do. Uryuu loves how it makes him shudder and swear, interrupting his smooth rhythm. He wonders if Kurosaki is holding back more than just his power. Uryuu thinks he must be, since he has started to tremble and pant harshly from the rush of all that pleasure. His reiryoku is wavering wildly, threatening to break free entirely.

“Let it out,” Uryuu tells him. “All of it.”

Kurosaki moans at the prospect of relief, but has enough consideration to check, “You sure?”

“I can handle it.”

He doesn’t express doubt for that claim. He doesn’t immediately bombard Uryuu with everything he’s keeping on reserve, either. Kurosaki widens the flow gradually and keeps close tabs on his reaction to it. When Uryuu doesn’t wince or shout, he releases the rest and sighs like it was a massive effort all along. It probably was, judging by the difference in power radiating off Kurosaki’s soul. In hindsight, Uryuu figures he was getting maybe a third of it until now. With the other two thirds added in, he gasps and clutches at Kurosaki to keep him grounded. He feels alight with energy, like a live wire. He _is_ energy.

A funny thought occurs to Uryuu and he chortles. The odd sound makes Kurosaki’s brow crease in concern.

“Still with me, Uryuu?”

He grins and explains, “I was just thinking…I could really fuck up some Hollow right now.”

That startles a short laugh from Kurosaki. “For a second, I thought I’d broken your brain or something.”

“You did that a long time ago,” Uryuu cheerfully agrees. “I feel like I’m high.” He giggles again. “You’re my drug, Ichigo.”

He gives Uryuu a weird look. “Your eyes are glowing.”

That is not surprising. He deliberately increases the output of his own reiryoku to watch Kurosaki’s eyes flutter shut in understated bliss. “Why aren’t yours?” But the next time he opens them, they are.

Whether or not Uryuu is ready for it, Kurosaki kisses him desperately and changes the pace of his hips drastically. It’s more than he needs. More than he can handle. Uryuu wants to tell him he can’t last like this, but he realizes Kurosaki can’t, either. He is way past his limit and the extra power Uryuu is giving him makes it unbearable. Kurosaki needs his release. He’s crazy for it. But he won’t let go until Uryuu gets there first.

His arms and legs tighten around Kurosaki as his vision dims at the edges. His eyes snap shut as his mouth falls open. Uryuu can’t hear the noises he’s making and doesn’t care how embarrassing they must be. The pleasure bursting inside him is so strong it almost hurts, but Kurosaki’s reiryoku makes pain impossible. It burns everything else away.

He moans Uryuu’s name as he _finally_ lets go, and slows to a stop against him. Kurosaki makes a soft sound, almost like a whimper, as Uryuu’s aftershocks coax a little more come from him. He slides out with another of those soft sounds and slumps to the bed beside him to catch his breath. Turning to look at him, Kurosaki finds his hand to clasp tightly.

“I love you,” he reminds Uryuu once again.

Leaning up to kiss Kurosaki’s throat, he smiles and says, “Even if you didn’t keep telling me that, I already know. Every part of you is singing me a love song.”

His grin is wide and joyful.


End file.
